


Face in the Portrait

by LadyMarianne123



Category: Crusade
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:04:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 36,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6556570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMarianne123/pseuds/LadyMarianne123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two men - one face - two destinies. What will Galen do when faced with his "magical" duplicate's story?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Matthew Gideon, captain of the Excalibur, stared skeptically across the table at his ships surgeon Sarah Chambers. “Tell me again why we need to make a two day detour to this unexplored region of what use to be Markab space?”

Dr. Chambers stared pensively at the message she had received before answering. “Dr. Tooms, a friend of mine in medical school, just relayed information to me concerning a teacher of ours, Dr. Herodotus Grey. Dr. Grey was the leading expert in communicable diseases when we were in school. He and his wife Selma were also two of my dearest friends. His wife was my tutor and was a great source of inspiration for me when I was doing my residency back on Earth. When I went on to Earth Force we grew apart. I haven't seen either of them for almost ten years. His insight into how the Drakh plague works and what steps we should be taking to find a cure would be invaluable to our search.”

“Then why doesn't Earth Gov contact him directly?” Gideon asked in exasperation. “Better yet, why isn't he already on Mars, working on a cure with all the rest of the Brain Trust?”

“Because Dr. Grey disappeared from Earth right after the Telepath War and hasn't been seen since. His son and daughter died during that horror. They were innocent victims of a bomb thrown at a Psicorp base by rebels. I'd heard he'd had a nervous breakdown after their funerals and his wife had taken him away to Mars to rest and regain his strength. Shortly after that he dropped completely out of sight. Until now, that is.”

“Until now?”

Dr. Chambers got up and handed the message crystal to her captain. “Yes, a transport ship had to make an emergency stop-over on a low-tech world not far from the Markab home world. Since the Markab people died before the outbreak of the Shadow War, not many ships have found their way to this little outpost.”

“Didn't Sheridan destroy the jumpgate in that sector in order to destroy a Shadow vessel?” Gideon asked, staring down at the crystal in his hand.

“Yes, but that sector wasn't totally cut off. There are other jump gates that can be used to get close to the inhabited planets in that area. It just takes longer to get to them than it did when the jump gate was still functional. Anyway, the doctor from that transport ship had attended one of Dr. Grey's lectures on inter-species disease transmission and he recognized him immediately when he saw him in the market place.”

“Look, Sarah, don't you think that if the man wanted to help he'd have found a way to contact someone about his whereabouts by now?”

“I don't know, Captain. All I do know is that we need to at least try to convince him to come out of retirement. Maybe his genius can come up with a solution to the Drakhh plague that no one else has thought of before. I think it's worth the delay.”

Gideon sighed then surrendered gracefully. “Fine. I'll have a course set for the Markab system. But if your Dr. Grey slams the door in your face we're leaving to make our rendezvous. No arguments, right?”

“Whatever you say Captain.” Dr. Chambers agreed, turning to leave. She stopped by the door briefly. “Oh, by the way, was that Galen I saw coming down the corridor before our meeting? I hadn't heard he'd shown back up again.”

Gideon shrugged, unconcerned. “You know how he is. One minute he's here, the next he's gone. Maybe he'll be helpful with your recalcitrant friend.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Dr. Chambers grimaced at the thought of the strong-willed Technomage and her equally determined former teacher sitting down to a discussion. “Diplomacy doesn't seem to be his strong suit.” She strode out of the conference room, mentally reviewing what she would say if her old friend actually was where she thought he was. Somehow she had to convince him to come back out of his self-imposed darkness and help find a cure for the plague before it was too late.

\---

Maxius IV – two days later

Selma Grey moved quickly through the market place, ignoring the pleas of the various vendors in her path. She become quite adept since they had arrived on this little backwater township in ignoring just about everything – everything except her husband's increasingly erratic behavior. “If only I could burn those damn paintings.” She muttered to herself, ignoring the puzzled look from the merchants she passed. “Maybe then he'd snap out of it.” She sighed in frustration.

“Dr. Grey?” a familiar voice called from behind her. Selma turned to find herself staring at a face she had not seen in many years.

“Sarah … Sarah Chambers? My heavens, it's been what – almost 10 years?” Selma smiled and enveloped the younger woman in a motherly embrace. “What ever brings you to Maxius IV?”

“I was going to ask you the same question.” Dr. Chambers responded, returning the hug. She turned and gestured towards the two people at her back. “Selma let me introduce you to Captain Matthew Gideon of the Earth Alliance cruiser Excalibur and my friend Dureena Nefeel.”

“A pleasure to meet you both.” Selma glanced quizzically at Dureena, mentally running through the catalog of alien races she had studied and not finding one that matched the dark haired, tense young woman in front of her. “Are you here on a mission?”

“Selma, haven't you heard what's happening on Earth? Hasn't Herodotus heard about the Drakh plague?” Sarah Chambers asked, anxiously watching her old tutors face as she spoke.

“Yes, I've heard some of what is going on from various traders who have passed here on their way to Babylon 5. As for what Herodotus has heard, …” her voice trailed off, leaving an awkward silence. She searched the face of her one-time favorite student silently as a plan formed in her mind. “Sarah, you know what happened after Jack and Angie died?”

“I heard you and Herodotus left Earth for Mars to get away from painful memories.”

Selma smiled affectionately. “Dear Sarah, still the diplomat. I'm sure your friends already know that my husband had a nervous breakdown after the death of our children. Going to Mars was my idea. I had family there, and I had hoped that getting him away from all that reminded him of the children would help him to start to heal. Sadly, I was mistaken.”

“What do you mean?” Sarah asked, hesitantly.

“Not here.” Selma replied. She motioned to a small café and beckoned the group to follow her. “We'll be more comfortable here. It's something of a sad story and I find sad stories are much more acceptable with a glass of what passes for ginger beer.” The elderly woman motioned to the tavern keeper and soon the group was sitting at a private table with glasses of honey-colored liquid in front of them.

Gideon took a sip from his glass. “Nice!” he commented. “Very smooth.”

“Yes, it was my husband's favorite drink when we first arrived here. Of course, that was when I could still drag him out of the house, away from his work.”

“What work?” Sarah asked.

Selma stared down at the table, arranging her thoughts. “You have to understand, Sarah, that Herodotus was devoted to our children. He believed that it was through children that one obtained immortality. Once they were gone, his mind just couldn't seem to settle on any one thing for long. Nothing seemed to hold his interest, not his work, not his old hobbies, … not even me. So when he first showed an interest in the paintings, I was actually thrilled. It was the first time in months I had seen any signs of life in him.”

“What paintings?” Dureena asked, confused.

“Sorry. I'm getting ahead of myself. My brother found a cache of artwork done in the late Twentieth century by an obscure woman artist. Her specialty was portrait work. She was no Holbeins but she did have a certain talent, enough that some of her work is still exhibited by small museums back home to this day. But no one had every found any of her early works until my brother came across them in a vault he excavated while building a new spaceport in Canada. She had done a series of portraits of people in what can only be described as medieval costuming, and used a fantasy world for her background. It was a series of canvases meant to be shown together which were entitled “The Dark Lady and her Lords of Magic”. Nothing like the work she would later do, but amusing just the same. My brother brought the works with him to Mars after the job was finished, along with some absurd legends he had heard about the portraits. I think it was those legends, more than the portraits, that finally peaked my husband's interest and then fueled his obsession.”

“Okay, now you've lost me.” Gideon commented, tipping his glass back to finish his drink. “What legends? What have a set of pictures go to do with you and Dr? Gray being out here in the middle of no where instead of back on Mars helping work on the Drakh plague?”

“The stories my brother brought back,” Selma continued, ignoring the captain's comments, “were that the people in the pictures were magical beings, immortals who had asked the artist to paint their portraits in return for granting her a long and fruitful life.”

“Sounds like Technomages.” Gideon murmured to himself. “But I didn't think they showed up on Earth that early in Earth's history.”

Selma continued her story, staring down at her glass. “The artist did, in fact, live to be over a hundred years old and was painting new portraits up until the day she died. This and other coincidences that my husband's research discovered led him to believe that the legends were true. He developed an obsession to find out everything he could about the artist and her subjects with the hope that one day he might actually meet these magical beings and…”

“And ask them to bring your children back.” Dureena finished the statement sadly. “My people have stories of such quests. They always end badly.”

“Nothing I have said over the last few years has reached past that obsession of his, not even when I told him about the Drakh plague. Those canvases seemed to have cast a spell of their own over him, a spell I can't seem to break. Sarah, I know it's a lot to ask, but he always thought highly of you. Maybe you could talk to him? Make him see what he's doing to himself, to us…”

“Of course.” Sarah replied, putting her hand over the older woman's. “Take me to him.”  
“Hold on.” Gideon replied, looking off across the bazaar. “We need to wait for Galen. He said he'd meet us here.”

“Really Matthew, you should have your eyes checked. I'm standing right here,” an amused voice responded from the shadows behind Gideon. The Technomage stepped forward with a smile, nodding his greeting to Dureena and Dr. Chambers.

“I hate when you do that.” Gideon complained, only half joking.

“I know.” Galen replied, unconcerned. “I believe you were about to introduce me to this lady?”

Sarah made the hurried introductions, including the fact that Galen was a Technomage. Selma examined their new companion silently, revising what little she had known about that mysterious order. The man in front of her seemed normal enough, not like the so-called “Lords of Magic” enshrined forever on her husband's accursed canvases. “I'm pleased to meet you Galen.” She said, and then moved to lead the group from their quiet little nook. “I only wish it could be under better circumstances.”

The group walked swiftly through the crowded market place, most of its inhabitants giving the Technomage and his friends a wide berth. It wasn't long before they had reached the small adobe house the two Earth doctors shared on the outskirts of town. Selma silently slipped the lock and led them into a sparse front room, where three life-size canvases stood against the far wall. “Those were the portraits my brother found on Earth. There were, according to legend, four of them. Herodotus has a theory that to contact the people on the canvases he had to have all four of them. He's still searching for the last one.” She commented, automatically setting the lights so that the works could be seen to their advantage. The first was a portrait of a young woman dressed in a long dark robe, with a band of gold around her forehead, keeping her black hair back from her face. She stood with a sword grasped before her and a large, snowy owl perched on one shoulder. Her eyes were fathomless, deep dark pools that even in the flat surface of the canvas seem to draw the viewer into them. The two companion pieces were of portraits of men, one a lean, dark haired wanderer with an intricately carved staff in his hand. The other man was as golden and bright as the woman had been dark, with blazing blue eyes that seemed to leap from the canvas.

“The Dark Lady and her Lords of Magic.” Sarah murmured, drawn to the portraits almost against her will. The artist had added incredible detail to her work, little imperfections to the fold of a robe, or a hair out of place that made the figures almost life-like.

“Strange.” Galen commented, looking at the Wanderers portrait. “That staff looks familiar. I would swear I saw one of my order with one similar to it. But Matthew, you are right. My order did not find members on Earth during this age of Humankind.”

A pounding sound suddenly erupted from deep inside the dwelling. Selma grimaced at the sound. “Oh, no! What on Earth could he be doing down there?” She scurried towards the back rooms, the Excalibur's crew in tow. There they found an elderly man busily trying to open a large, almost man-sized crate that had been propped up on a table. He glanced back at his wife for a moment, an almost maniacal smile on his face. “Selma, look! Your brother found the last one! The set's complete!” He ripped out the last few nails and pulled the top of the crate off hurriedly, digging through the mounds of packing material inside it till he found its contents. He wrestled it out of its home hurriedly then propped it against the wall. “See, here he is, the last of the players. The Swordsman has finally come to join his Dark Lady.”

Gideon heard Galen's sudden intake of breath from behind him, and Dureena's exclamation of disbelief. Both he and Sarah stared at the life-size portrait, stunned into silence. It was a painting of a man, a man with a tall sword strapped to his back and a parrying knife in one hand staring at the artist with what passed for disinterest. But what drew them all to the painting, what riveted them to the fantastic work was the man's face. It was a portrait of Galen.


	2. Chapter 2

Galen pulled his hood up over his head, hiding his face from his companions as he moved towards the portrait. He examined the painting with care, using not only his eyes but also the enhancements of his built-in technology. It was, for all intensive purposes, nothing more than a well-preserved oil painting, on a slightly cracking canvas. The work itself was no better or worse than the other three paintings, though not as well done as some works of art he had seen. The artist had yet to work out the subtleties of light and shadow, with the background details merging into one another. Yet it was the subjects eyes that drew the viewer in, eyes that seemed locked in what Galen had once heard referred to as a “thousand yard stare”. Eyes that had seen all the pain and despair a world could offer set in a face as cold as stone. His face. For a moment, it was as if he were looking into a mirror of his own soul. He shivered, suddenly cold.

“Galen?” Gideon called out, his voice hushed. “Something you want to tell us?”

“What is there to say, Matthew? I suppose he could be an ancestor of mine…”

Selma reached out and grasped her elderly husband by the shoulder. “Herodotus? Please…we have guests. Look who has come to see you? It's Sarah…Sarah Chambers. You remember her don't you?”

“Oh course I remember her.” her husband replied, irritably. “I haven't lost my memory no matter what you think of my other faculties.” The old man turned to Dr. Chambers and smiled, suddenly the gracious host. “Hello my dear! It's so good to see you. I wish I had more time to spend with you but as you can see, I'm quite busy.”

“Yes, Selma was telling me about your portraits.” Sarah replied, cautiously. “Which one is this again? The Swordsman?”

Dr. Grey chuckled indulgently. “Very good, Sarah. Humor the madman until you can figure out how to deal with him. That's a very good strategy. But it won't work with me, my dear, since I'm not mad. At least, not yet.” He glanced at the dusty portrait for a moment, and then shrugged. “Ah well, I suppose I should introduce you and your friends to the Immortals. You never know when such knowledge might be useful. I didn't realize how useful it would be until I saw the first of the paintings. Here..” he thrust the edge of the painting in Gideon's general direction, “you take one end and I'll take the other. It's about time the four were re-united.”

Gideon sighed then lifted one corner of the painting, grunting as most of its weight was leaned onto him. The older man started to drag the other end of the frame then stopped, stymied by its bulk. Galen grimaced, then walked around the older man and leveled his staff horizontal to the ground. He murmured a simple equation then motioned with the staff. To Gideon's surprise the portrait levitated on its own, making it easier for him to guide it as they maneuvered it into the living room and placed it carefully beside the others.

“Don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me how you did that?” Gideon asked his friend quietly as he watched the old doctor carefully wipe the dust from the portrait's frame.

“Not really.” Galen replied his eyes fixed on the four paintings. His heightened senses were picking up something from those canvases, a dim shimmer that seemed to emanate from their very core. It hadn't been there when they had first entered, only appearing when they had put the fourth canvas beside the other three. He wondered, briefly, if he should warn the others then thought better of it. The light didn't seem to be growing and he could register no heat associated with it. Whatever it was, it wasn't a threat. At least, not yet. “Dr. Grey, you were going to tell us about these people?”

Herodotus Grey looked up at the Technomage with a frown. “Yes.” he said slowly, trying to peer past the shadows Galen's hood cast over his face. “But you should know them. You might be one of their children.” He looked back at the new addition thoughtfully, his mania subsiding as his scientist mind considered the possibilities.

“Well, I don't know anything about them.” Dureena moved towards the paintings slowly, keeping the old man well at arms length. “Who are they?”

Dr. Grey smiled and waved in the general direction of the canvases. “They are the Immortals, beings I've dedicated my last remaining years to finding. They are the source of all magic, capable of incredible deeds of wonder. That one for instance.” he pointed to the woman's portrait, falling automatically into lecture mode “She is called the Dark Lady. She is the pivot around which the three male figures always revolve, each with their own part to play. The dark one is called the Mage. He is part priest, part wizard, part soldier, part anything and everything. From my research I've come to the conclusion that he is the Lady's brother, her opposite number in all things. The blond is called the Phoenix Lord. He is the Lord of Light and Fire, who lives through Magic alone. He is also her brother, but more her Lord and King than sibling.”

“And the Swordsman?” Galen asked, softly.

“He is the odd one.” Dr. Grey admitted, faltering. “He lives to serve the Lady, but not the two other Lords. He is Magic, yet it all revolves around his blades and his service to her. I don't really understand where he fits into this circle yet I know without him here, the petition won't work.”

“Petition?” Gideon asked, skeptically. “Look, I don't know what you think these over-sized Tarot cards are capable of but right now, we've got a more pressing issue that you need to be made aware of. There's a crisis on Earth…”

“Yes, I know. The Drakh plague. I've already been informed about it. But don't you see Mr…”

“Gideon, Matthew Gideon, Captain of the Excalibur.”

“Captain Gideon. Don't you see? If I can wake them from their ancient sleep, they can solve your problem for you. They are capable of anything.” The old man turned away from his guest and began to carefully clean his new acquisition, mumbling to himself as he worked. “Yes, soon you'll awake and everything will be just as it was. Just as it always was.”

Gideon shrugged then motioned to Dr. Chambers. “Well, there's your answer. The man's one brick short of a load. He can't be of any help to us.”

Galen watched the doctor putter around the four canvases, noting that the glow he had seen before was spreading across the canvases, yet was still invisible to the naked eye. “Don't be so sure of that, Matthew. There might be more to this than either of us knows.”


	3. Chapter 3

Gideon stared at his friend in amazement. “You believe this bull?” he asked.

“What I believe is not at issue here Matthew. What is important is that Dr. Grey believes his tale. And there is something about those paintings, something I can't quite pin down. Perhaps if Maximilian were to look at them or Lt. Matheson…”

“Why Matheson?” Dureena asked, suddenly wary.

“What is Lt. Matheson's psi rating, Matthew?” Galen continued, ignoring Dureena's question.

“P5 I think. Not very high as psi ratings go. Why?” Gideon frowned as he watched the Technomage start to circle the portraits, examining them even more closely than he had before.

“There is something here, Matthew. Something my technomancy cannot identify. Perhaps…” he stopped again in front of the Swordsman's painting and reached out to brush a fleck of dust from the face of the canvas. Suddenly, a feeling of incredible power enveloped him, surrounding him with sights and sounds he knew were not from his present reality. He could smell a burning wood fire, hear the screams of dying men and feel the cold weight of a sword in his hand. It was as though he were looking out at a scene from Hell through someone else's eyes. Bodies littered a landscape he had never seen. A tall, shrouded figure stood before him, baring his way. He could here a low, hissing voice from behind him yet could not make out its words. Whoever he was in this reality was coldly satisfied with the devastation before him, seeing it as a job well done. The figure turned and he found himself looking into the eyes of the Dark Lady, eyes full of pity and sadness. “Stop, swordsman. There are no more left for you to punish. The last of them is for me.” He could hear a voice, his voice, reply “They deserved what punishment they received.” She put out her hand and laid it gently on his chest. Then suddenly, as suddenly as it had begun, the vision was over. Galen stepped back from the portrait with a gasp.

“Galen? Are you alright?” Gideon moved forward to support his friend, who swayed suddenly unsteady on his feet.

“No, Matthew. I'm not all right. For a moment, he and I were one. I could see what he had seen. Somehow this portrait acted as a conduit for his memories to my mind.” Galen shook his head and took a deep breath. “Matthew, I think we need to re-examine what is happening here. I fear Dr. Grey has no idea of the power he could unleash if he actually makes his petition.”

Selma Grey stared at the two men in disbelief. “Are you saying Herodotus theories are true?” she asked, scornfully. “That these images can bring back beings from another time? You're as mad as he is.”

“I'm not mad.” Herodotus interjected, bounding up to the group with long candles in his hands. “And I can prove it to you. Here, set these up in a circle around the paintings. Everything must be arranged just perfectly so that they will feel welcome when they come.” He thrust some of the tapers at Dureena and Sarah and scampered off for more.

“Matthew, you can not allow him to do this.” Galen insisted. “He does not know what he is unleashing.”

“Do you?” Sarah asked, impatiently.

“No. But I know enough to believe that this is a very dangerous thing he is attempting.”

“What did you see when the Swordsman's memories were flowing into you?” Dureena asked, setting the candles on the tables beside the canvases.

“A war zone. Bodies everywhere. And an evil presence so close I could smell it.” He turned and looked at the portraits again, stopping in front of the female figure. “She was there too. She called me “Swordsman” and said that there were no more left for him to punish, that the last of “them” – whoever “they” were – was for her. It was something she had said to him in another time.”

“Was he responsible for the death around him?” Dureena pressed on, ignoring Selma Grey's exasperated look.

“Yes, I think he was. And I don't think he much cared.” Galen looked back at his doppelganger with a frown. “I'm not sure he cared about anything at all.”

“Look, as fascinating as Galen's experience sounds, there has to be a logical explanation for it. We can look into it later. Right now, we have to do something with Dr. Gray.” Sarah laid her own candles down beside the portrait of the “Mage” and stood frowning at the group. “Any suggestions?”

“Let him do his little voodoo ceremony and when nothing happens maybe he'll be more amenable to talking about helping with the plague.” Gideon looked quizzically at Galen. “What's the worst that could happen?”

“Matthew, hasn't anyone ever warned you not to ask that question?” Galen replied, somberly. “I think it is a bad idea to allow this, but I also fear that nothing any of us can say to the man will change his mind. So perhaps it is best for us to stay and watch over him, in case the worst does happen.”

“You really mean to let my husband go through with this lunacy? This is madness! I won't have it!” Selma snatched up a candleholder and charged at one of the portraits, swinging wildly. “These horrible paintings! I should have burned them when I had the chance!”

Dureena grabbed the older woman's arm and pulled her gently away. Sarah joined them, trying to calm her upset friend. “Selma, calm down. These are just canvases. They don't have any special power. Destroying them won't bring Herodotus back from wherever his mind has gone. Trust us. Once he's seen that nothing comes of his little experiment, then maybe he'll be more willing to talk about getting some help.” She hugged the sobbing woman closely.

Herodotus entered the room at that moment, carrying more candles and flowers from the garden. He ignored his wife's tears and proceeded to set the candles in the room in a circle, lighting each and muttering a prayer as he went. The flowers he laid at the foot of the Dark Lady's portrait then stepped back, closing the circle with one last candle. “I call on you, great Immortals, to come back to the world of Men. Come back Dark Lady and bring with you your Lords, your Mage, your Phoenix Lord and he who serves as your Swordsman. One of your children petitions you, Lords of Magic, to push back the curtain of time and space and step forward in to your former realm. Come to us, Magic Ones, we beseech you.”

Galen stepped back with a hiss as the glow he had seen before began to grow in intensity. “Matthew, do you see what is happening?”

Gideon also stepped back, his PPG in his hand. “Yes. Any ideas what it is we're seeing?”

“A portal is opening, Matthew. But a portal to where?” The Technomage watched grimly as the light enveloped the portraits, then turned away as its intensity blinded the rooms occupants. He could see nothing but the light yet in the center of the brightness he could just hear voices, speaking in a language he had never heard. A woman laughed and a man joined her in the joke. He could feel someone grasping his shoulder and a man's voice in his ear “I have no surviving enemies either, little brother. It's brought me no more peace than it has you.” Then suddenly the light was gone.

Herodotus Grey cried out in anguish. The four paintings were gone. All that remained inside the circle was a small heap of flowers, now wilted and dying. His invitation had been rejected.


	4. Chapter 4

Sarah Chambers dropped into the mess room chair with a sigh. Across from her, Captain Gideon was playing with a deck of cards. “Well, that's done.”

“How are the Grey's?” Gideon asked, his long fingers shuffling the cards again.

“Better now. Herodotus is sedated and quiet. Selma is with him. I think she's just happy to have someone take this responsibility off her shoulders for a while.”

“I arranged for us to be met at Babylon 5 by a cargo ship bound for Mars. They'll transport the Grey's back to their home by the end of the week. The ship's captain owed me money from a poker match we played a while back. This will make us even.” He started to lay the cards out for Solitaire, flipping the pieces of plastic over quickly.

“I know Selma appreciates what you're doing for them, Captain. It's obvious now that Herodotus needs more help than she can give him, especially after what happed on the planet. Speaking of which, what's your take on what we saw?”

“You heard Galen. He said a portal was opening. How or why it was opening I'm not prepared to debate. Maybe there was some Shadow tech attached to those paintings that was activated when they were brought together. Maybe it was one of the other First Ones playing their own little cruel joke. I doubt we'll ever really know.”

“Have you spoken to Galen since it happened?” Sarah asked, quizzically, watching him play with the deck in his hand, re-shuffling them in the middle of his game.

“No, he took off almost immediately. Funny thing, I think this whole thing bothered him more than he was willing to say.”

“Do you really think he experience that moment of déjà vu when he touched the painting?”

“I think that he thinks he did. And that's good enough for me.” Gideon frowned then gathered up his cards and shuffled them again. “Care for a game Doctor?”

Sarah smiled wearily. “Sure. Why not?”

\---

Light years away from the Excalibur, Galen sat quietly in his ship listening to the music it played for him. He reviewed the events of the last day in his mind, trying to find an explanation for what he had experienced. He was not a telepath, of that he was sure, yet he had touched a mind from long ago and heard a voice that had been long silent. Yet his implants told him nothing whatsoever had occurred. Nothing had registered with any of the tech he carried with him as part of himself or part of his cloak. Whatever it was, it had only happened in his head. He stared down at the sketch he had made of the runes on the Mage's staff, watching his ship's computer try to match them to any know glyphs. The images moved faster and faster on the screen, lulling him for a moment into a trance-like state. He could still hear that voice – his own voice – in his head “It's brought me no more peace than you.” he had said. Galen shook himself awake, his eyes focusing again on the screen as the computer finally translated the symbols.

“Warrior, priest, soldier, spy, brother to she who is light in the darkest night.” He read the inscription aloud, wondering if the words had been once part of an equation or spell that the staff's owner had created for his own purpose. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, seeing the Swordsman's portrait in front of him, using his tech to call up its image in detail. He downloaded the image of the painting that his tech had automatically captured to the computer and projected it as a hologram in front of him. Even the glow was there, surrounding him in the night. As he sat, musing on the image, a light, that same golden light which had enveloped the paintings stole quietly into the room, illuminating every corner with its brilliance. The painting seemed to come to life, displaying more texture and dimension than a normal holographic image such as this had any right to display.

Somehow Galen found himself on his feet, his eyes glued to the image. Behind the man in the painting, the scenery seemed to move, to shift and shape itself into a real landscape, with rolling hills and wooded paths. It was so real he could almost reach out and touch the shapes in front of him. The image changed as he watched, moving from a posed portrait to a landscape. Rolling hills covered in vegetation stretched beyond the horizon and tall trees shaded the path before him. But the sylvan setting held no peace. The trees cast grotesque shadows on the path and the land was deathly quiet, as though the land itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. He frowned as a figure appeared over the horizon, coming slowly down the path. A rider astride a shaggy black horse moved with silently down the road. The figure in the saddle wore an earth-toned clothes and a ragged cloak with the hood pulled up over its bowed head. A crossbow was strapped to the rider's back and an almost delicate katana hung from the saddle within reach of its owner. The image flickered and changed as the horse and its rider moved down the path, finally cresting a small hill to see a small, prosperous village. Behind the cluster of perfect little homes rose an ancient castle, surrounded by ominous clouds. The rider stopped and looked up, pushing the hood back from its face. Then the image faded and the portrait appeared in its proper place.

Galen stepped back, startled, then dropped into his chair. Before it had faded, he had glimpsed the face of the mysterious rider. It was the Dark Lady.


	5. Chapter 5

Galen searched his ship carefully; using every trick at his disposal to discover how the images he had seen had been transmitted. He used internal scanners to carefully examine the bulkheads then ran his fingers lightly over the smooth metal surface, searching for a slight imperfection that would reveal a transmitting device. Yet after almost two hours he had to admit there was nothing there.

“Well, who ever they are, they're inventive to say the least.” He muttered, leaning back in his seat. He hesitated for a moment, and then called up the image of the Swordsman again, setting parameters on his computer for a search of all his available databases. After another hour, he again had to admit defeat. There was no match for the image anywhere, no name he could give this man with his face. He stared into the blue eyes that looked back at him from the hologram. Eyes that looked so much like his he was almost willing to swear he was looking in a mirror. He could feel them pulling him back in and for a moment he resisted, wary of giving over control of his mind and body to an outside force.

“Be calm.” A voice in his head said. “You wished to know, now you will.” The voice was so familiar, so like his own and yet at the same time different. Galen stiffened, wondering if some nanotech virus from the painting had corrupted his tech, causing him these auditory hallucinations. He closed his eyes and began to try calling up subroutines to diagnosis his implants. “That won't help.” The voice commented sounding slightly amused. He frowned, recognizing the snide tone he sometimes used with Gideon.

Galen reached out and pulled his staff across his lap, ready for whatever might come. “Very well. Show me then. Show me who and what you were.” He slowly relaxed, putting himself into a meditative state, making it easier for whoever or whatever it was talking to reach him. For a moment nothing seemed to happen. The room was quiet, with only the sound of his breathing to break the silence. Then other sounds began to intrude, sounds that should not have been present in the ship. A bird called in the distance, branches rustled above him and a sound of hoof beats seemed to be getting closer. He opened his eyes and found himself again on the path he had seen before, watching the Dark Lady approach on her dark steed. But the angle was different than it was before. He seemed to be looking down at her from a great height. Galen looked to one side and was surprised to see himself standing there, dressed in a dark, silk robe with a short dagger at his belt. The man turned away and Galen was able to catch sight of him in a mirror. The figure reflected back to him had his face but at the same time was not him. There were scars across his bare chest and on his exposed arms that he knew were not there. And around his throat was something that resembled a golden dog collar. The eyes that looked back at him from the mirror were soulless. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he knew that he was watching the passing of events in the life of the Swordsman. Galen was, for all intensive purposes, a ghost in the room.

A door opened behind him and both Galen and the Swordsman turned to find themselves staring down at the most hideous creature Galen had ever seen. It bore a passing resemblance to a man, yet had what appeared to be snakes for hair and running sores over most of its body. Its blood-shot orbs stared at the Swordsman with malice.

“So, taking in the scenery are we?” it rasped, slithering across the room to stand at the window. “See anything interesting? Any new amusements for us?”

The Swordsman shrugged, standing his ground. “Another rider comes up the trail. A woman, this time.”

“So, they run out of men to throw on your blade, now the rebels think to send a woman's wiles against you. Fools!” The creature stepped back and pointed a finger at the man before him. “Dispatch her, I command it!” Then it turned on its misshapen feet and stomped away.

The Swordsman shrugged. “As you command.” He replied. Only Galen was left to see the man grip the pommel of his sword till his knuckles were white and the metal cut through his skin.

\---

The horsewoman looked up at the foreboding castle with a frown. Damien had said this would be a difficult case but he hadn't mentioned just how hard it might be. “Note to self – remember to talk to my blond idiot brother about leaving out details during a mission briefing.” She absently ran a gloved hand over her horse's neck, scanning the countryside for possible danger. An older woman, walking up the path from the village towards her, was the only figure visible.

“Hello, old mother. Is this the village of Ainsley in front of me?”

The woman looked up at the figure on the horse with a frown. “Who might you be, missy, to be asking about Ainsley?”

“My name is Marianne of Draco. I come in search of the one they call Urius the Jinn.”

The older woman blanched at the others words. “Are you mad girl? Do you wish for death? Be gone from this place before the demon or his servant hears of you.”

“What servant?” Marianne asked with a frown.

“The Swordsman, of course. You've not heard of him?”

“Should I have?” Marianne slid off her horse and stretched her tired muscles for a moment before fixing her gaze again on the old woman.

“All have heard of him. He destroys all those that seek the demon. No man or boy in a thousand years has stood before him, sword in hand, for long.”

“Seems a pretty weak demon if he has to have someone else do his fighting for him.” Marianne replied thoughtfully.

“It seems a weak group of rebels who must send a woman to fight their battle.” A voice agreed. Both women looked back down the road to see the dark figure standing on the path.

“The Swordsman!” the old woman squeaked, backing fearfully off the road.

“The Swordsman.” Marianne echoed, standing calmly in place.

\---

Galen woke with a start, disoriented for a moment. He looked around his ships control room, reassuring himself of its reality. The hologram portrait was still displayed before him, the expressionless eyes still staring down at him. He stared up at it for a moment then saw a detail he had not noticed before. The man in the portrait was not wearing the golden collar he had seen in the vision. He moved to stand then pulled his hand back from the chair with a gasp. A long, shallow and bleeding cut had appeared on his right hand right at the spot where the Swordsman's pommel had cut his hand.


	6. Chapter 6

Galen winced as Dr. Chambers examined the cut on his hand. “That is still attached to me, Doctor.” he commented, pulling a glove over his hand before she could poke at it again. He had been aboard the Excalibur only a few hours, having rendezvoused with her after the ship's stopover at Babylon 5. He was already regretting mentioning the events he had witnessed to Gideon, who had immediately insisted on sending him to Doctor Chambers for a full medical evaluation.

“Sorry.” Sarah replied absently. She stared at his gloved hand for a moment longer then went back to her desk. “And you say that injury just appeared there after the vision?”

“Yes, Doctor. As I explained, there was no exposed metal in the chair or any sharp edges on my staff that could have been responsible for this. One minute I was fine, the next minute I was bleeding all over my coat.”

Dureena, who had walked in during his explanation of his injury, stared worriedly up at him from her chair. “My people would say you were possessed by the spirits of the dead. That can be a dangerous thing.”

“And a fascinating thing as well.” Galen protested. “My order believes in knowing all things that can be known. This event is just another mystery to be solved, another fact to be added to our storehouse of knowledge. Nothing more.”

“Except that this isn't anything like reading a story out of some dusty old book.” Sarah protested. “Whatever happens to that man in your vision happens to you. What if this Swordsman gets into a battle he can't win?”

“Somehow, Doctor, I think there are few if any opponents he couldn't handle.” Galen mused, remembering the scars on the other man's body. He frowned as his ship sent him a signal that the search he had requested had finally been completed. “If that's all then, I'll be returning to my ship.”

“I'd like you to remain aboard the Excalibur for a while, at least until I can rule out any external cause for that vision.” Sarah glanced over a Dureena with a sigh. “I suppose it would be too much to hope for that you'd give me a blood sample to analyze?”

“There is no need for that.” Galen protested, wrapping his injured hand firmly around his staff. “I've already run all the medical and diagnostic tests necessary on myself. There was no drug interaction, no external force found by my ships sensors. I can only assume that either I was being assaulted by a very high-level telepath for reasons I can not fathom…”

“Or you were possessed by the dead.” Dureena finished his statement, rising with a somber look. “And I'll be willing to wager it won't be the last time either. There is something they want from you Galen. Be careful. Don't let yourself get too caught up in whatever game they are playing. The stakes may be higher than even you are willing to pay.”

\-- 

Galen walked up through the hatch into his ship, ignoring the Excalibur's crewmen and their curious looks in his direction. He waved his hand in front of him and an image appeared, a scan taken from an ancient text. It was the golden collar he had seen around the Swordsman's throat, or at least a reasonable facsimile. He read the translated text with interest. The collar was a reproduction, created by an Alchemist who had supposedly been given its design in an unholy vision. Whoever wore the collar was slave to the being who held its key. Needless to say, the alchemist had been sorely disappointed when his creation hadn't had the desired effect. The trinket had been added to some Sultan's treasure trove along with its legend and forgotten by history until now.

“Strange.” Galen thought to himself. “He didn't seem the type to be enslaved by anyone.” He waved the image away and went to his sleep chamber, stretching out on the bed with a sigh. He hadn't allowed himself much rest since that first vision and his body was aching for sleep. Soon, his breathing slowed and his eyes began to flutter as he drifted into deep sleep.

\-- 

The dream picked up where the vision left off. It was as though he were watching the events unfold from the other side of a large mirror or some holographic screen. But there was a difference. He could hear the thoughts ringing in the other man's head, feel the emotions – or lack thereof- that ran through him. It was as though the Swordsman was sharing not only his story but also his soul with his guest. And now, the story was beginning to take shape. There before him again were the Lady and the Swordsman, meeting for the first time on the road to Ainsley.

“You have the advantage of me lady.” The Swordsman said mockingly. “You know my name yet I do not know yours.” His eyes took in her image; from the dusty boots and curious broach she wore to the thin scar that ran from the corner of her eye across her temple. Her hands, long and slender, the hands of an artist, especially drew him. From the way she had handled her horse he suspected that she was stronger than she looked.

“Say nothing!” the village woman hissed from her hiding spot behind a tree. “Names have power!”

Neither of the two people on the road paid the woman the slightest attention. “Marianne of Draco at your service. I was on my way to Ainsley to look up a certain Urius the Jinn.”

“What business do you have with the Jinn?” The Swordsman asked moving slowly towards the woman. He was not surprised that she showed no fear. Humans never seemed to learn from the mistakes of others. None of the other rebels had feared him either until it was too late.

“I have something to return to him.” She reached cautiously into her pocket and pulling out a small, leather pouch. She shook its contents into her gloved hand with a cold smile. “I think he might want these.”

“These” turned out to be small, well-worn rune stones, each intricately carved with a mystical symbol. She turned them over in her hand, running the tip of her finger over their smooth edges. The Swordsman took another step towards her, his hand on his sword then stopped. The stones were familiar to him yet he could not place exactly where he had last seen them.

“They last belonged to another species of ancient demon – one who called himself the Wanderer. He died at the hands of humans who did not take kindly to his attempts to make them chose which of their children he would take away and make his own. Foolish pet, he should have been more careful.” Marianne carefully dropped the stones back into their pouch and tucked it into her pocket. She looked at the man in front of her expectantly. “I would think he'd want them back, being of the same inclination as the Wanderer.”

“If that is all you are here to do, then give me the stones and I will return them to my…to the Jinn.” The Swordsman reached out one hand, careful to keep the other on his sword's hilt. “There is no need for you to travel further.”

“I think not.” Marianne replied, turning her back on the surprised man and mounting her horse. She kept her face blank, yet his hesitation to claim the demon as Master gave her an idea. “My orders were to make sure the Jinn got his property back personally. Besides, I think you might have worse problems than me to deal with right about now. Isn't that smoke I see coming from the village?”

The Swordsman whirled around to see billowing smoke rising from the center of the village. He gasped sharply in pain as the collar around his neck began to glow with a demonic light and his master's voice screamed in his head “RETURN!!!” He tossed something in front of him and promptly disappeared from the two women's view.

Marianne stared down the road, a plan formulating in her head. “Well, ” she commented ruefully. “And just when I thought we were getting better acquainted. Come along, old mother. I'll give you a lift into town.” She reached out and motioned for the older woman to come out of hiding.

The villager clambered up the bank and waved away the other woman's hand. “No. I must return to my farm. And you should return to wherever it is you came from, missy, if you value your life.” She ran off in the opposite direction with surprising speed.

Marianne sat astride her horse for a moment, then with a resigned shrug, flicked the reins and sent it trotting towards the town.


	7. Chapter 7

“When was the last time you talked to him?” Gideon asked Dureena, concern in his voice.

“Yesterday, when he saw Doctor Chambers. He was intrigued by this vision he had, more curious than concerned. I'm afraid of where that curious nature may have taken him.”

“Well, if he's on his ship there's not much we can do to help him. His security systems are better than anything I've ever seen. I don't suppose you can get in?”  
Dureena shook her head angrily. “No. I've tried. Nothing I do works.”

Gideon shrugged, at a loss for words. Being helpless on his own ship annoyed Gideon but there wasn't much he could do about the situation. They would have to wait and see when the Technomage finally decided to come out and grace them with his presence.

 

\--

Marianne cantered her horse into the town square, just in time to the end of the one-sided battle. The inhabitants of the village were milling around, whispering urgently to on another as they watched the scene unfold. An overturned hay wagon billowed black smoke over the square as two men danced around one another with swords. From her vantage point, though, it looked like only one man was dancing. The other was fighting for his life.

The Swordsman moved around his opponent with a lethal grace, parrying every wild thrust and avoiding any misstep that might give his opponent the advantage. Truth be told, opponent was a kind word to describe this farm boy who had come for revenge against the Jinn. The boy had screamed something about a girl, one he had loved since they were children, who had come to the village in search of work and had been returned to him after the Jinn had amused himself with her. He had vowed revenge against the monster that had destroyed her sanity and ultimately her life. But the vow was a hollow one. The young man barely knew which end of a blade was which. But the Swordsman was caution all the same. He had seen too many other experienced soldiers brought down by lesser fighters due to over confidence. Left to his own devices, the Swordsman would have finished the encounter before it had begun but the Jinn, in his fury, had insisted on having the boy cut down by inches. So they circled around each other, the younger man on the defensive and growing weaker with every new cut.

“Now there's a pretty picture.” Marianne drawled, leaning forward casually in her saddle. “What is it about sharp implements that attracts men? I suppose it must have some deep-seeded psychological significance but blessed if I can figure out what it is.” She slid off her horse and strolled up to the edge of the square, a bored look on her face. “Do let's get this over with. I've a schedule to keep.”

The townsfolk gasped then moved back in fear as the Jinn appeared in their midst with a showy burst of flame. “Finish him, slave.” He snarled, “Then finish this one as well.”

“Whatever.” She replied, unconcerned. She watched coldly as the Swordsman dropped all pretenses and disarmed his opponent quickly, killing him in the process. Then a movement in the crowd caught her eye. The boy had brought a friend as a re-enforcement. A glint of steel was all she saw before her unconscious mind took over. “Down!” she shouted. In a swift move, she pulled a throwing star from her belt and launched it at the Swordsman's face, counting on his instincts to save him from the sharp blades. As the Jinn's servant ducked, a figure behind him moved forward with a blade and was caught in the throat by the throwing star's sharp points. He went down with a muffled shriek, writhing and gagging.

The Swordsman whirled around and impaled his attacker on his blade, putting the other man out of his misery. “It is done.” He muttered, turning his back on the Jinn. He sank to his knees and waited for the Jinn's inevitable rage. The beast would not allow him to go unpunished for his failure to see the hidden danger before it was almost too late.

The Jinn hissed angrily and pulled a whip from his belt. “You fool! He could have killed us both!” The furious demon unleashed his whip and began to wield it against the unresisting figure before him. He had laid only a few stripes on the man's back before Marianne pulled the rune stones from their bag and dropped to the ground to lay them out. The sound of the ancient stones distracted him momentarily. The sight of the stones against the dusty earth left him breathless.

“The Wanderer's stones!” he gasped, dropping the whip and shuffling up to where the woman now sat. “How came you by these stones, human?”

“Like I told your “friend” over there – I saw this old beast die.” She scooped the stones back up and tossed them down again, keeping her attention fixed on them and not on the two beings in front of her. “Seemed a pity to let them go to waste.”

“Give them to me!” commanded the Jinn, letting his voice ring with echoes of his power. “I command it!”

“I don't think so.” she replied calmly. “You haven't impressed me as the sort who will do well by these stones. I think I'll just keep them for now.”

“I think not.” The Jinn replied, summoning a spell of power and pain. His red eyes darkened, till there was nothing in the sockets but inky blackness. His hunched frame straightened with the power coursing through it. He muttered ancient, arcane words and gathered cold hard lights together into a ball then suddenly launched the spell at the seated woman, enveloping her in a fiery brilliance. The townspeople gasped, remembering the last unfortunate who had been overtaken by this fireball. There had been nothing left but an outline of the man's form against his house. The Swordsman bowed his head wearily, soul sick and bone tired.

“I could have taken the stones from her.” the Swordsman said, rising from his knees. “There was no need for this.”

“Tell it to her ashes.” The Jinn snarled.

“Tell to her face since it appears I've no ashes for you to talk to.” Marianne rose from the ground and brushed off the rapidly dwindling lights with an annoyed snort. “You really should do your homework before you attack someone new. To save us the trouble of going through your entire piddling arsenal of spells, let me tell you something about myself. My name is Marianne of Draco, daughter of the Moon and sister to the Phoenix. I've come a long way and have an even longer road to travel and …oh yes, one more thing. I'm immune to magic.” She dropped the stones back in their bag and tossed them to the Swordsman. “Here. They are of more use to you than me.” She turned swiftly and disappeared into the crowd, leading her horse behind her.

\--

Galen woke suddenly, drenched in sweat. His back ached from the welts he knew he would find when he removed his shirt. The scent of burning straw still clung to him. He dragged himself out of bed and wearily cleaned himself and his sleep chamber. Splashing water on his face, he stopped to stare at his reflection in the mirror. “I know misery loves company but aren't you taking things a tad far?” he asked his image humorlessly. He sat at his controls and mechanically began to enter the dream in a journal, along with all the other information he had acquired about the paintings and their mysterious subjects. He set the controls to send the journal entries to a place he knew his friend Alywn would find them. If this little adventure proved fatal, then at least one person would know the reason why it had occurred. Then, with a sigh, he lay back down on the bed and prepared for the next installment of his living nightmare.


	8. Chapter 8

Alwyn read through the messages sent by his fellow technomage with alarm. “Young fool! What does he think he's playing at?” The older man waved away the crystal bauble he used to view the information he had been sent and quickly began to pack up his skimmer, programming it to rendezvous with the Excalibur's last known location. He could only pray that Galen's obsession would not kill the younger mage before he got there.

\---

The images solidified before Galen, images of the Swordsman's rooms in the dark and dingy castle. An old woman, the village healer, stood behind the Jinn's servant, murmuring healing spells and gently cleaning the marks left by the whip. A cowed slave was standing nearby, trying not to stare at the angry welts on the man's back, welts that were magically healing with each pass of the healer's hands. “You were lucky this time.” the woman commented, finishing with the last open cut. “I heard he was in rare temper today.”

“When is he not, Magda? He fears the others' of his kind will come one day and deprive him of his kingdom or that the rebels will finally find a way to free the land of the tyranny of Darkness. And he knows if I did not wear this abomination,” he tugged at the collar still fastened around his neck, “I would be with the rebels, fighting with them as my father did.” The Swordsman rose from his chair, suddenly claustrophobic in the small room. “You've done your duty by me again, Healer. This slave will see to your payment.”

Magda shook her head sadly. “I am glad that your father did not live to see what your life has become. It would have broken his heart.” She stopped herself from patting the young man's shoulder in comfort; a gesture she knew would not be welcome. Magda had known the Swordsman since he was a boy, had watched him grow up as a devoted student of his father, the Sheriff. She had been there the day the Sheriff's neighbors had cut him down to placate their new master and bound his young son as a tribute to the Jinn. Their long relationship was the only reason he allowed her to minister to him. She alone of all the villagers did not hate or fear the enigmatic young mercenary.

“Then I should thank my fellow villagers for murdering him in his bed before he had that experience.” He replied bitterly. “Or perhaps I should thank them for selling me in to slavery to the Jinn to save their miserable lives when he demanded payment for my father's destruction of his previous champion.”

“They were frightened.” Magda protested, her words ringing hollow in her own ears. “They feared the Jinn's wrath would fall not just on your house but on all of them. They were not brave men like your father.”

“Not so frightened that they couldn't plan an attack on an unarmed man. Not so frightened that they couldn't lure a teen-age boy from his father's side and bind him to a horror beyond his comprehension.” The Swordsman yanked his shirt back on and turned his back on the old woman dismissively. “You may go now. I will summon you again if you are needed.”

Magda sadly picked up her supplies and started for the door. She paused for a moment then looked back at the rigid figure standing by the table. “What do you make of this woman who brought the Wanderer's runes back to the Jinn? I hear she is still in the village, at the Brandymist Inn.”

“She is a rebel, nothing more.”

Magda frowned at the studied indifference in his voice. “The Jinn's magic had no effect on her. Would not the rebels have attacked in force if they had such a gift at their disposal?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps she is a rogue, looking for a Master to serve. It doesn't matter. The Jinn will set me against her soon enough.”

“What happened to the stones?”

“He took them from me as soon as she had left.” The Swordsman allowed himself a cold smile. “But she was right about his being unable to use them properly. They prophesied death for him every time he threw them down.” He reached out and plucked a leather pouch from behind some books. “He finally threw them back at me, claiming she had cursed them to give false information.”

“Have you thrown them to see your fate?” Magda asked, quietly.

He tossed the bag back on the table with a frown. “I know my fate. It is to live and die as the Jinn's slave. My only hope lies in death.” He stiffened suddenly, listening intently. “GO! The Jinn is coming.”

Magda scurried from the room, escaping its confines as the Master of the Castle entered them. “Well, slave, I have a task for you.”

“When do you not have a task for me?” the Swordsman replied quietly.

“Silence! You will speak only when spoken to!” The Jinn made a gesture in the air and the collar began to glow. He made a pulling motion and the Swordsman found himself yanked off his feet, falling to his knees before the monster. “Now hear me, boy. You will find this woman, the one who saw the Old One die, and you will find out all she knows. Take to her my good wishes, false though they may be, and tell her I wish to speak of alliances between us. Convince her that I can be a good master for her to serve.”

“She's seen your actions in the market place, old monster. What makes you think the girl is foolish enough to overlook your evilness and ally herself with you?”

“Because, boy, a human woman can be won in many ways. She can be convinced with gifts, with flattery but most of all, with the attentions of one she might find fair. Seduce the woman, and she will be more than willing to see things my way.” The demon laughed evilly, a sound that sent chills up the spine of the normally composed fighter.

“It is not enough that you have turned me into your personal executioner. Now you would command me to do this thing? Send me under spell to this woman's bed like some paid whore?” His voice was low and sick as he fought the urge to lash out at the beast before him.

“No. You will do it because if you do not then I will have the woman brought here and entertain her myself, in my bedchamber. You remember the last human female I entertained in that fashion, don't you? She still lives in the village, though perhaps living is not a good description for the state she now is in. I have heard she has finally stopped screaming all the day. If you do not feel yourself up to the task, I am sure…”

“I will do as you command.” The Swordsman replied, bitterly.

“Good.” The beast hissed, slithering back to the door. “See you do the job well. Then bring her back here so that we can discuss the terms of her new employment.” The door slammed behind the Jinn, the sound echoing through the dark hallways.

“New employment or new slavery?” the Swordsman thought wearily. “He will fit her with a collar and it will be finished.” He rose and began to dress, ruthlessly pushing away the wrongness of his coming actions from his mind.

\---

The Inn was brightly when the Swordsman arrived, a beacon against the cold darkness. Inside he could hear the voices of the village men talking about the day's events, voices he remembered from his youth. They had all at one time or another, been at his father's table, laying out their petty disputes for the Sheriff to administer. They had all sworn eternal friendship to their wise lawgiver, a friendship that had not stood up to reality of the Jinn's evil. He shrugged, knowing his presence would not be welcomed and knowing they would be too afraid to demand he leave. He entered the Inn quietly, his vivid blue eyes scanning the now quiet occupants, searching for the dark-haired Marianne of Draco.

“Looking for someone in particular or will I do?” an amused voice called out from the corner of the room. Marianne leaned forward in her chair and beckoned to him.

He moved with deadly grace across the room and sat at her table, frowning at the fact that he had to sit with his back to the open room. He noticed the meal that still sat untouched before her. “Not hungry?” he asked, conversationally.

“I've seen better meals in a charnel house.” She replied, pushing the unappetizing food away. “If I didn't know better, I'd swear they were trying to chase me away.”

“They are.” He agreed, glancing back at the Innkeeper, who stood petrified by the door. “They fear you'll bring the wrath of the demon down on them.”

“Will I?” she asked with a sad smile.

“Perhaps.” He replied, his voice non-committal.

“I can't image why he would be angry. After all, I did bring the stones back to him. I assume he took them back from you the minute my back was turned?”

“Not for long.” he responded casually. “It seems they no longer give him the answers he desired.”

“Probably because he's asking all the wrong questions.” She laughed.

“He is an inquisitive beast.” The Swordsman commented. “He has more than a few questions for you.”

“Did he send you?” Marianne questioned, watching his eyes as she spoke.

“Yes. He would have you entertained, the better to woo you to his service.” The Swordsman stared back at the woman coldly, wondering if his blunt response would warn her of the danger she faced.

“It would be rude of me to turn away his gift. Come, my room is at the top of the stairs. I'm sure these kind folk will give us some privacy for my … entertainment.” She rose and took his hand, walking regally past the cowered villagers to her rooms. He followed her somberly, gliding in her wake like a shadow.

Once in the chamber, she moved gracefully around the room, lighting the numerous candles she had scattered on all the available open space. With the last candle lit, she turned and glided up to the still figure at her door and looked up into his shuttered eyes. “Make yourself comfortable,” She commanded, laying her hands on his chest, “Come and sit with me a while.” She caressed his cheek then glided out of his reach, seating herself on her bed with her back braced against the wall.

He watched her emotionlessly, and then did as he was told, pulling his shirt off and dropping it beside the bed. He sat on the edge of her bed and removed his boots, then turned to take her into his arms. She smiled and laid her hand flat against his bare chest. He jerked back, suddenly, as a feeling of power flowed from the woman into him. “What did you do?” he asked, confused.

“Just touched you.” she replied, quietly. “I needed to know if you were compelled to come or if you came under your own power. I may be immune to magic, but that doesn't mean I don't have a few gifts of my own in that area to use. I can sense deception when it is spoken to me, or when I lay my hands on it. You came under your own power but I think that maybe your master's command doesn't sit well with you.”

“You're wrong.” He replied coldly.

“See, there you're lying to me. I can hear it in your thoughts and in your words. I don't like liars.” She slid off the bed suddenly and dropped into a chair by the window. “Go back to your master and tell him if he has anything to say to me he can do it himself.”

“No!” the Swordsman replied hoarsely. “You do not know what you ask. You do not know what he will do to you if you force him to deal with you himself.”

“Then tell me. Enlighten me so that I don't ask again.”

He stood and grabbed his shirt off the floor and dressed quickly. “Why are you here?” he asked, angrily. “Who has sent you?”

“My brother. It seems your master has something my brother wants. I am to acquire it, no matter what the cost.”

“Even if it cost you your sanity? Or your soul?” he demanded, standing tensely in the flickering candlelight. “Make no mistake, that is what it will cost you to take anything from the Jinn.”

“No matter the cost.” She repeated softly.

“The Jinn will take what he wants from you and leave what is left to his minions. Or, if you are lucky, he will set my blade against you. Pray he chooses the later fate for you. At least that will be a quick and easy death.”

“What will happen will happen no matter what I pray for.” She replied calmly. “But one way or another, I will finish this journey I have sworn to undertake.”

“What could the Jinn have that would be worth your soul?” The Swordsman asked, bitterly.

“You. The beast has you.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Captain, a jump point is forming in this sector.” Matheson watched the readout carefully then frowned. “The ship coming through looks like Galen's!”

“Another technomage?” Gideon asked in surprise.

“Yes sir, and they are hailing us.”

“Put it on screen.” Gideon looked up as the screen in front of him wavered for a moment than coalesced into a familiar face. “Alwyn?”

“Captain Gideon, we meet again. Tell me, what do you know of the affairs of my impetuous young friend Galen?” The older technomage smiled, a gesture that did not reach his eyes.

“I know he's locked himself in his skimmer and none of us can get him out of it.” Gideon admitted worriedly. “Don't suppose you happen to have a spare key to his place do you?”

“Clear me for docking. I'm coming aboard,” the older man replied brusquely. The screen went suddenly blank.

“Contact terminated, Sir.” Matheson looked back at his Captain with a frown. “Shall we signal him to begin his approach for docking?”

“Yes. Maybe he can figure out what the devil is going on in that ship” Gideon started back to the door hurriedly, then stopped and turned back to his friend and shipmate. “Before I lose another friend to the unknown.” He turned and strode away, headed for sickbay.

\--

Dr. Chambers looked up as Gideon charged into sickbay. “Captain? Any new developments?”

“Yes, Galen's friend and fellow technomage Alwyn will be aboard soon. Hopefully he'll be able to get into Galen's ship to check on him. Anything new on your end?”

She shrugged tiredly. “Not really. I checked the documentation Dr. Grey had on the portraits without much success. Selma left me all of Herodotus's research into the personalities behind the images but it's not really adding up.”

“How so?” Gideon asked, curious.

“Well, it appears from the history he was able to dig up on the artist, she used a college professor of hers as a model for the figure of the Mage.”

“Which one was he again?” Gideon walked around till he was standing behind Sarah Chamber's chair so that he could look down at the data displayed on her screen.

“The dark-haired male figure with the staff. The professor's name was Andre McMasterson. The woman figure was, depending on whose account you believe, either his sister or lover by the name of Marianne Draco. The blonde male figure is also identified as Marianne's brother, Damien Draco. Draco was the CEO of Draco Enterprises which eventually was merged with – get this – Interplanetary Expeditions.”

“Max's bosses?” Gideon stared at his doctor in shock. “Maybe he can shed some light on this situation.”

“I already thought of that.” Sarah replied. “But according to Max, Draco Enterprises simply folded up shop one day some twenty years after these paintings were done and disappeared, leaving their assets in a holding company that was eventually acquired by IP. He's as mystified about this connection as we are.”

“You said something didn't add up. Care to explain that?”

Sarah gestured back to her screen. “Galen's “visions” seem to revolve around the portrait of the Swordsman but there was only one mention of that fourth painting. The artist added it as an after-thought after she had created the first three. It seems the model for the Swordsman was Marianne Draco's bodyguard. The artists and her biographers knew next to nothing about the man. All they ever seem to say about him is that he made no bones about despising her brother Damien, tolerating her brother Andre and being totally devoted to Marianne. They don't even have a name for him. The artist just referred to him as Marianne's champion.”

“How very chivalric!” Alwyn's voice dripped with sarcasm. The trio looked up, surprised, at the figure of the older technomage who had seemingly appeared out of nowhere to take up a seat behind them. “Now that we've all heard the details of the fairytale, can we please talk about the facts of the situation? How long has that young whelp been locked in his room and how would you like me to get him out again?”

\--

The Swordsman stared across at the woman beside the window in shock. “Me? I'm not worth your soul, woman, much less your life.”

“That depends on your point of view.” Marianne replied with a small, secret smile. “From my brother's point of view you are worth any price to have.”

“Because of my talent with the blade?” The man snarled. “Your brother would make use of my “gift” for his own purposes – have me trade one master for another like any other good slave. If this is your journey lady then find another path out of this village and as far from us both as you can.”

“What makes you think he would not free you?” she questioned.

“No man can free me from my fate.”

“Not exactly true.” Marianne rose and pulled a leather journal from her saddlebags, which hung from the bedpost. “According to this, if the one who sealed the collar around your neck were to be killed with his own sword then your fate would pass on to the victor. He then could choose to keep you enslaved or free you. So you see, there is a way out of your curse.”

“What fairytale is this you tell me, lady? When I was first cursed I searched every sanctuary I could find, every repository of ancient lore to find a key to breaking free from this hell. I never found this. And even if I had, what man would risk battle with the Jinn?”

“You obviously didn't look in the right repositories. This little tome,” she said, laying the book on the table between them, “came from the library of another of the Jinn's race, one that didn't survive his meeting with my partner. And as for no man risking a battle with the Jinn – well you might have a point there. No man might challenge him with any certainty of victory but a woman might. What do you think my chances are against the beast?”

The Swordsman stared down at the woman, aghast. “You wouldn't last five minutes. He would…” his voice trailed off as the events of that afternoon replayed themselves in his head. “His magic would be useless against you,” he whispered, for a moment allowing him to hope. Then the cold, hard feel of his slaves collar brought him back to reality. “It wouldn't matter if he could not ensnare you with magic. All he need do is set my blade against you and it would be ended.”

“Perhaps. Then again, I might surprise you. But time enough to worry about that. The night is growing short and I, for one, need to rest. You are welcome to stay if you wish. There is room enough for both of us in this bed.” She curled herself back onto the bed and pulled a light blanket over her. “I'm pretty sure I don't snore. Andre would have told me if I did.”

“Andre?” The man asked, suddenly wary.

“My partner, best friend and blood-brother, an all around strange sort with a good heart. You would like him, I think. You've both been through the fires of Hades and lived to tell the tale.” She sat up and hugged her knees as she stared at the solemn man before her. “You can always put the sword between us if it makes you feel better.”

“And risk you trying to cut my throat as we sleep? No, lady, I will stay because it is expected of me but it is best if I sleep on the floor.” He pulled a mound of blankets she had pushed off the bed and laid them on the floor beside the window.

Marianne tossed him a pillow with a smile. “Trusting sort, aren't you? As you wish. Sleep well, Swordsman.”

“Sleep well, Lady.” He replied. He glanced around the room and waved his hand gently in the air, blowing out all the candles with a simple magic gesture.

\--

Marianne waited for a while till his even breathing suggested to her that he had finally relaxed enough to sleep. Slowly, quietly, she inched her way off the bed and pulled off the shift she had been wearing, replacing it with a man's long, cotton shirt and riding pants from her saddlebag. Wrapped in the shirt was a pair of soft black leather gloves and a round, smooth crystal which reflected the moonlight like a mirror. With a quick glance at her “guest” she crept out the door and to an open window at the end of the hallway. There she pulled on the gloves and lifted the ball to the moonlight for moment, then drew it back and stroked its surface, murmuring a name as she did so. Its crystal surface clouded for a moment then cleared, reflecting an image back to the woman, an image of a great, golden bird covered in flames. A soft, masculine voice emanated from the ball, “Well, sister? What have you to say to me?”

“I've seen the village,” she replied quietly. “The stories we've heard of this area appear to be true. There's little doubt that they've sold themselves to the Jinn for prosperity. Unlike most of the other towns we've traveled through, this one seems to have no poverty or ill health. I'm not sure as yet what price they are still paying for their good fortune, though I can make a pretty good guess.”

“And the Swordsman? Have you made your assessment of him?”

“He's a difficult one to pin down. One thing is for certain, the deaths attributed to him were probably not all his fault.”

“How did you deduce that?” the voice in the sphere asked, sounding skeptical.

'Well, for one thing he's wearing the Malfious collar. If what Andre found in that library was true, the wearer of the collar is in thrall to the holder of the key and can offer no resistance to any command, no matter how abhorrent the deed. His talents with the blade are probably his own but so long as he wears that collar his actions are the work of the Jinn.” Marianne glanced down the hall, checking for signs of unwanted listeners. “I've gotten the Jinn's attention, though. He sent his “servant” as a gift to me for the night. I think that by tomorrow I'll be able to enter the Jinn's stronghold.”

“You know what to look for when you get there?” the voice asked softly.

“Yes, of course I know. And I'll find it, never fear. But getting it out of the stronghold may be more difficult than we anticipated. The Jinn knows magic doesn't have an effect on me now so his only recourse will be to use the Swordsman.” She leaned against the wall, suddenly weary. “I'm not sure I can beat him in a straight fight.”

“You can't,” the voice replied agreeably “so think of another way. And remember what is at stake here sister. Don't let some stray sense of pity sway you from your task.” The light in the crystal faded as she held it, leaving its surface clear again.

“And goodnight to you too,” she murmured, pulling off one glove and wrapping it around the globe. She returned silently to her room and tucked the ball back in the saddlebag along with the gloves and pants she had been wearing. The shirt she kept on as she slid back into bed without a glance at the figure on the floor. She was soon fast asleep.

The Swordsman lay tensely on the floor, waiting for her to finally settle in for the night. Sleep had never come easily to him and this night especially it had eluded him. When she had left her bed he had pretended to sleep, waiting to see what actions she would take. He had waited till she had closed the door behind her before he had risen to his feet and searched the room. She would be wary, watching for spies in the hall, but in a world of magic there was always another way to hear what was being said in the darkness. He took her shift from the floor and stood before the mirror, holding it briefly to the glass as he spoke the spell of listening. Its glass found her in the hall and he listened somberly to her conversation. When she finished he passed his hand across the glass, breaking the spell. With a start he realized he still held her gown clenched in his fist, the only sign of his anger at the woman's betrayal. She was using him, he realized, to get to the Jinn. Somewhere in the depths of his tattered soul he had hoped she really had been there for him but now even that sliver of hope was gone. He tossed the gown back on the floor and returned to his makeshift bed, pulling the blankets up to his face as she came in the door. “Very well,” he thought to himself, “if she wishes to meet the Jinn, then let it be arranged. When morning comes, she will see the inside of the castle. It will be the last sight she will ever see.” He closed his eyes to wait for dawn, ignoring the ache in his heart.


	10. Chapter 10

Alwyn stood before Galen's skimmer and intoned the proper incantations quietly, holding his staff in front of him. Gideon and Dr. Chambers stood in the background, watching fascinated as the older Technomage inscribed the words of the equation in letters of fire that hung in the air between the man and the ship. Yet no matter what he did, the ship continued to refuse him entry. Finally, the old man dropped his arms and backed away in surprise.

“I take it your key doesn't work anymore?” Gideon's voice was sharp and sarcastic, masking his growing concern for his friend.

“No, it doesn't. And it should work. There is no reason for it not to work. Yet something is preventing me from going through that door.” Alwyn eyed the skimmer pensively, pacing in front of it for a moment.

“Could Galen be keeping you out?” Sarah asked, quietly.

“No, I would recognize the feel of his technomancy. This is something different, something I've never felt before. There is an almost organic sense to it, as though a living power were surrounding this ship, keeping back anything or anyone it did not want too close.” Alwyn stopped his pacing and faced the Excalibur crewmembers, concern on his face. “I'm afraid this is much worse than I had first feared.”

“Suggestions anyone?” Gideon asked curtly.

“I may have one.” Max Eilerson strolled out of the shadows, a data crystal in his hand. “Captain, Dr. Chambers, care to introduce me to your guest?”

“Not really.” Gideon moved to stand face to face with the man, forcing Max to look at him. “What's your suggestion?”

Max backed up a step and held out the data crystal to Sarah. “Well, after our conversation I did a little more research on Draco Enterprises in general and Damien Draco in particular. Seems the man had something on everyone. He had a gift for knowing exactly what people were going to do even before they did it.”

“He was a telepath?” Sarah asked, curious in spite of herself.

“This was before there was any test for that sort of thing, but from some of the events that were linked to him I'd say he was a high level teep, maybe even Psi cop material. He was certainly ruthless enough for it. He and his family built this huge, global financial empire then suddenly one day they just abandoned it without a word.”

“So they walked away from their money. That's kind of odd but…” Gideon looked back at Sarah and Alwyn in exasperation.

“No Captain, you still don't understand. They didn't just walk away from the money; they walked away from the world. Every member of the Draco family, including their servants, disappeared on the same day over two hundred years ago. Not a trace was ever found of any of them. The only things they left behind were those four portraits.” Max waved a hand at the crystal he had given Sarah. “It's all there. My company acquired the holding company's assets almost a hundred years to the day that the family disappeared. And, if I'm not mistaken, this week in Earth time is the two hundredth anniversary of the family's dropping of the face of the planet.”

“What was the name you gave?” Alwyn asked, his voice suddenly somber.

“Draco.” Max answered smugly. “Sound familiar?”

“Yes, unfortunately, it does.” Alwyn turned back to the ship and laid a hand on its hull, his face a mask of weary emotions. “Galen, what have you gotten into this time?”

\---

Marianne opened her eyes slowly, aware of every smell and sound around her. She sat up and found herself staring into a pair of cold blue eyes. The Swordsman sat at the end of her bed, wiping a dagger with her shift. His sword belt hung from the bedpost with his cloak. “Well, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning,” she commented.

“I will take you to the Jinn,” he replied, tossing the shift to the floor and tucking the dagger back in his boot. He rose and strapped on the sword and cloak. “Get dressed.”

She pulled her feet up under her and sat on her knees at the head of the bed. Her eyes traveled from his impassive face, to his hands hidden inside their black leather gloves, down finally to the remains of her dress on the floor. Marianne looked back up into his expressionless eyes with a frown. “Didn't anyone tell you that listening to other people's conversations isn't polite? I'm assuming that's what's got you so closed off, isn't it? My conversation with my brother, which you probably used magic to overhear.” She sighed in exasperation then stood up on the mattress and walked to the end of the bed. Leaping lightly into the air, she landed beside the window and began to dig through her pack for her clothes. “I'll be dressed in a moment. You can either wait for me in the hall or watch me dress. It matters little to me.” She yanked her shirt off over her head and tossed it in his direction. Reaching across the table, she pulled the water pitcher towards her and upended it into the bowl. Marianne splashed the cool water on her face, aware of his eyes watching her impassively. She pulled on a black cotton shirt and pants and pulled her hair up into a ponytail, sweeping stray wisps of hair impatiently away from her face.

The Swordsman watched her movements without expression, standing with his arms crossed in the center of the room. “Are you ready?” he asked.

“Ready to go sight-seeing around this charming little hamlet – yes. Ready to poke around in the market place and see just how the other half lives - probably. Ready to see that slimy little worm of a master of yours – screw him. He can wait.” She pulled her boots on, steadying herself with a hand on the wall, and then moved towards the door. Glancing back she wondered briefly what might be going on behind those shuttered eyes, and then dismissed the thought. “Coming?” she asked.

The Swordsman followed her out of the Inn and into the market place, watching as she wandered from stall to stall examining anything that caught her fancy. A bright bolt of cloth here, a string of beads there, anything and everything that wasn't related to the Dark Jinn seemed to interest her. Finally she came to a halt in front of the hall belonging to the Healers Guild. She stared up at the emblem on the wall, cracked and faded with age with interest.

“Healers? Well, I've always had an interest in that particular science. Let's see what they have to say for themselves.” She glanced back at her silent shadow with an amused smile. “Coming?”

“My master awaits your presence. He will not wait patiently for long. It will be better for you in the long run to face him now.”

She leaned insolently against the door, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. “If that toad wants to talk to me, tell him to come ask for me himself. I grow bored with your silence and would hear some interesting news before I die. Either run along home to your master, boy, or wipe that scowl off your face and introduce me to someone who can entertain me with the history of this place.” She waited for his response, considering carefully how much further she could push him before his careful façade of control would crack.

“I can do that for you, Lady.” Magda's voice echoed from within the hall, followed by the elderly healer herself. “Please, enter and be welcomed.” She looked up at the Swordsman who stood stiffly in the road, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. “You are welcomed as well.”

“I will wait out here.” he growled, turning away from the two women and pulling his hood over his head to hide his expression from passersby.

Marianne shrugged, unconcerned. “If he wants to pout, let him. I've a mind to hear your story, healer, and no bad-tempered stick-swinger is going to stop me.” She stared at his stiff form as she spoke, gauging how much of a reaction her words would have on the already annoyed man in front of her.

“The tale is a mercifully short one.” Magda replied hurriedly. “Please come in and I will have the apprentices fetch tea so that we may speak in comfort.” She held the door opened as the younger woman entered, casting anxious glances back at the still figure they were leaving behind.


	11. Chapter 11

“Tell me what you know about this Draco family,” Gideon demanded, pacing in front of the conference room table. He, Dr. Chambers, Max and Alwyn and retreated there after Alwyn's attempt to enter Galen's skimmer had proven unsuccessful.

“It is as much legend as fact,” Alwyn admitted, sitting stiffly in his chair, his staff on his lap. “Technomages have existed for over a thousand years but humans have only been part of the order for a few hundred. Those early human technomages brought with them a legend from their home world, a legend of power and mystery – the legend of the Draco family. The story in my order is that the members of the Draco's were not human at all, but a race far older then even the Minbari. Those of my order who tried to research the unusual phenomena associated with that name found all their work blocked at every term. One technomage, Delcat of Phobos 7, was said to have found proof of the power these beings wielded but died before he could present it to the rest of the order. I was one of those sent to his place of power to retrieve his research, only to find it gone.”

“The research had disappeared?” Sarah asked.

“No, his home had disappeared. Everything he owned, down to his staff, his cloak and all his research had simply vanished almost overnight. And now one, not even the local inhabitants of the planet, could tell us how it had come about. All they knew was one day, the house was there and the next day it was gone.”

“How do you make a house disappear?” Max asked with interest.

“Easily if you know how,” Alwyn replied, “but none of the things needed to pull off that little feat of technomancy were present on that planet when we arrived. Since then, the study of that family's power has been undertaken by few of our kind and the stories of their power have become more myth than reality. I had never imagined Galen would have an interest in this tale, much less fall victim to it.”

“Wait, we don't know he's fallen victim to anything,” Max protested. “For all we know, he just wants to be left alone and that's why your little “incantation” didn't work.”

“Is there anyway to break past that barrier you felt and get into the skimmer?” Gideon asked, ignoring Eilerson's comments.

“I will try again, but I fear whatever has him locked away in his ship is not yet ready to release him.”

\---

Magda carefully poured the steaming tea into tiny cups and passed one to Marianne, who had curled up gracefully on the cushions across from her. “Where would you like me to begin, Lady?”

“At the beginning, of course. That's where all good tales begin. Tell me about this world and how it went from beauty to darkness.” Marianne leaned back against the wall, balancing the cup on her knee. She could just make out the till figure of the Swordsman through the window, still standing with his back to her in the street.

“The Darkness came upon us when I was a child.” Magda recounted, remembering the time before the demons with a sigh. “This world was once bright and beautiful and all who lived in it had their own small magics to perform. The ability to heal, the ability to grow plants and sturdy beasts, to paint the world with colors and sing words to end sorrow and pain, these were only a few of the abilities of our people.”

“Some had more martial talents?” Marianne asked pensively.

“Yes, those like the Swordsman's father had the ability to call any weapon to their hand in times of need. Others had the gift of truth saying and shape-shifting. But there was little use for these gifts in our peaceful world. At least, there was until the Darkness began to creep in.”

“When did it first appear?”

“There were signs of the approaching evil, signs we none of us truly saw. Werebeasts were seen again in the old forests and mischievous spirits suddenly began to bedevil places of learning. Crops didn't grow as well, no matter how many spells and incantations were spoken over them. And a red pall seemed to hang in the air at sunset, as though the sky itself were on fire. None of our sheriffs could tell us what was causing these occurrences. Most had no idea themselves, being mostly soldiers not scholars. But his father,” nodding to the still figure in the street, “he was both. He began to see a pattern to the small evils that were occurring, a pattern leading to a much larger evil.”

Marianne frowned at her teacup. “Why didn't he try to warn anyone about it? Your king, for instance, should have been told.”

“The kings of our land had become merely figure-heads. The real power lay in the mages who ruled the schools of magic. They and they alone could and should have done something. But like most that they taught these old sorcerers had little real power of their own. Some even welcomed the Jinns arrival into our world, hoping to partake of their power.” Magda closed her eyes, sadness overwhelming her at the memories of her people's downfall.

“What happened here, specifically?” Marianne asked softly. “What happened to the Swordsman to bring him into Uris the Jinns service?”

“Service? Slavery is a better term. He was barely sixteen when the Jinn came to our world. Before he was the Swordsman he was a kind and steady young man who was devoted to his father. But he was cursed with the gift of magic like his father. Only his gifts were far greater than the Sheriff's. The young one could not only call and control weapons, he could make the ancient spell-craft work for him. There were those in the village who were jealous of his gifts and those who were afraid of them as well, afraid he would take those gifts to the rebels and bring down the wrath of the demons on the village. And there were others, upstanding citizens all, who had wracked their pea brains for a way to make an advantageous deal with the Jinn and saw his gifts as their key to a wealthy life. They went to the Jinn and bargained with him for riches and long life and offered him a gift that wasn't theirs to give. The Jinn agreed. It was powerful enough against our kind but among its own it was a minor demon at best. It feared the assassins sent by its brethren and the rebel bands that formed after the demons overwhelmed the king's pitiful army. So it agreed to the villager's request and sent them to make good on their barter. These “good” men sent a village girl, one they knew the boy had a fondness for, to lure him away from his father's side while they dealt with the Sheriff.” Magda leaned forward towards her guest, her voice ragged with emotion. “They tried to buy the man's compliance, to bribe him to surrender his son to that monster on the hill. When he refused they overwhelmed him, beating him before he could call his sword to his side. The boy felt his father's distress and tried to go to him, but the girl had given him a drink laced with poppy juice and he fell, senseless before he had gone more than a few feet. He never saw what his father's old friends did to him before they murdered him. He never felt the collar being fitted around his neck or heard the spells of binding being performed. All he knew was when he woke from his drugged sleep, his family was dead and he was the bound servant of Uris the Jinn.”

“What of his mother? Was she still alive when this occurred?”

Magda sighed. “Yes, poor soul. She was defenseless against those “good” men who destroyed her husband and son, though she was thought to have the old magic in her blood. I suspect the only remnants of the old magic that she might have had she passed on to her son. There was nothing she could do – and nothing that could be done for her after it was all said and done.”

Marianne stirred restlessly in her seat. “Did he ever find out what had happened?”

“Yes, but the Jinn keeps a tight leash on him. He is prevented from taking his revenge openly by the power of the binding spell.”

“Does it also keep him from hurting himself? I would think he would have preferred death to being forced to serve the evil which was responsible for his father's death.”

“Yes, he can not cause his own death, though he can and frequently does cause himself injuries by seeking out encounters with other fighters. I am his healer, selected by the Jinn for this as none of the others here will tend him because of his battles for the demon.”

“And I suspect he's cut himself a few times too, just to see if he can still feel anything.” Marianne mused, laying the cup down on the floor beside her. She rose slowly and held out a hand to the older woman. “Thank you, old mother, for telling me this story. I think I know where my path lies now.”

Magda clasped the younger woman's slender hand in her own rough one. “What will you do now, Lady?”

“Now, it's off to see the Jinn. Wish me luck, healer, for if I don't succeed you may have yet another patient on your hands. Or my brother will be mourning the loss of his sister.


	12. Chapter 12

Gideon set the data crystal Max had given him into the computer and began to scan the files with Dr. Chambers and Alwyn. One file contained nothing but photos of the Draco family, used by the artist who had created the portraits as reference material. An image flashed on the screen, taken in the style of the late Twentieth Century. It was the Draco family at a charity benefit, surrounded by the elite of society, all pretending to be interested in the charity of the moment. Gideon stared at the photo intently, picking out the model for the first three portraits easily. Damien Draco was center-stage in the photo, staring off into space as though totally unaware of the photographer. “There's the blond, the one Dr. Grey called the Phoenix” Gideon commented, gesturing towards the image in the center of the frame. He frowned, scrutinizing the cold expression on the man's face. “Real arrogant type, isn't he?”

“And there's the dark Professor McMasterson” Dr. Chambers said, motioning towards the dark haired man beside Draco, looking back at something just out of the frame. The man was smiling and even in this flat image Sarah could almost see the twinkling of his eyes. “He looks like he was having a good time.”

“Go on to the next image.” Alwyn said, leaning forward in his chair, interested in spite of himself.

Gideon complied and found himself looking at the image of the dark-haired woman from the portrait. She also was looking away from the camera, absorbed by the conversation of someone unseen in the image. Behind her, stood a familiar figure. “Well, there's our boy – Marianne Draco's bodyguard.” He looked carefully at the image, noting that the man's eyes were riveted on the woman in front of him while she appeared to be occupied elsewhere.

“Are there more such photos?” Alwyn asked.

“Looks like the artist had pretty close access to the family.” Gideon replied, quickly skimming through the rest of the image files. “She's got tons of photos of all the family members, some posed and some not.” He stopped suddenly on one photo and whistled softly. “If looks could kill…” he commented, gesturing towards the screen.

The image before them was obviously not a planned photo, taken in what appeared to be a large, dark parlor. The rich tapestries and fine carvings in the background identified the spot as being probably one of the Draco family mansions. Damien Draco was again in the center of the photo, lounging in an overstuffed chair. His head was tilted back to talk to his sister Marianne, who was leaning over the top of the chair, a book in her hand. Barely a step behind her was the Swordsman, standing with his hands clasped behind his back and staring down at the man in the chair with an a frown, a look of cold anger in his eyes.

“If looks could kill, Captain, that man in the chair would be dead a thousand times over.” Alwyn continued Gideon's thought, a shiver running up his spine. He knew that look, had seen it just once before on Galen's face after the death of Isabel. It had been there when he had finally spoken to his old friend about the ones who had betrayed them, his enemies who had not survived their second encounter with him. Alwyn wondered, briefly, what Damien Draco had done to the Swordsman to warrant such abiding hate.

“This is all very interesting from a historical stand-point but does it tell us anything useful?” Dr. Chambers asked.

“No. You two keep looking, I'm going to talk to Max again.” Gideon relinquished his chair to the older mage and headed out the door, leaving the other two to continue their search through the records.

\--  
Marianne slowly moved from the shadows of the Healer's hall into the glaring light of the street. She glanced up at the tense figure still standing before the door, waiting for her return. She frowned, her eyes taking in the crowds trying to go about their business without calling attention to themselves. “One last stop before we reach the castle,” she declared.

“Where do you wish to go?” he asked, annoyed at the delay.

“To your home,” she replied pensively. “Don't ask me why, but I suddenly feel the need to see it.”

“My home?” he repeated dully. “I have no home.”

“You did once, a long time ago. I need to see that place, to get a feel for what happened all those years ago.”

He shot an angry look at the closed doorway behind them. “She told you what was done to us, to my family and myself?”

“Yes. What lovely neighbors you had then, Swordsman!” she replied, sarcastically. “I'm surprised they didn't hold orgies under the full moon and make blood sacrifices during tea time.” She watched the crowds hurry through their errands, her eyes following first one pretty girl then another. “So tell me, what was her name?”

“Whose name?” he countered, standing his ground.

“The witch who betrayed you to the Jinn.” Marianne watched as one particularly haughty young miss loudly berated a cringing maidservant as they walked around a flower seller's stall. The girl was a conventional beauty, all teeth and hair and long legs. In Marianne's estimation, there was nothing terribly special about her, nothing that a dozen other girls didn't posses in spades. She wondered briefly if this had been the girl the healer spoke of, the one who had betrayed the Swordsman when he had been just a boy. “Was she pretty? Did she have a brain in her head or was she just a pawn in her families schemes?”

“She knew exactly what she did,” he responded coldly, his eyes following her gaze. “Ask her yourself if you are so inclined. She stands only a few yards ahead of you.” He nodded in the direction of the villager, who looked up, aware she was being observed.

Marianne looked up and flinched at the naked hatred reflected in the man's eyes as he watched the village girl walk around the square. “You must have cared a great deal for her to hate her so much now,” she whispered softly.

“I don't remember,” he responded coldly. “It was a long time ago.”

Marianne turned away, and watched the other woman as she walked towards them. “Do you at least remember her name?”

“Yes,” he growled, pulling his cloak around himself to shadow his face. “Her name was Isabel.”


	13. Chapter 13

Galen stirred restlessly in his bed, the Swordsman's last words echoing in his mind. “Her name was Isabel,” the man had said, in a tone reserved for the names of the dammed. Galen's hands clenched reflexively, unwilling to hear or see more yet unwilling to turn away. He was so thoroughly enmeshed in the dreaming that nothing, not even the interference of another Technomage, would wake him before this unreal play was through. He sighed deeply then relaxed as the past continued to unfold before him.

\--

“Isabel?” Marianne asked, eyeing the girl quizzically. “Nice name. So, tell me Swordsman, what is it about her that angers you the most? The fact that she seduced and betrayed you or that you let her seduce you and lost your father because of it? Most teenagers are not great judges of character – at least not in my experience. It's not as though you abandoned your father for the little twit.”

“I did not abandon him,” the man replied, his voice tight. “They came like thieves in the night and were upon us before he could set up a proper defense. There was nothing that could have been done.”

“No, there wasn't,” she replied softly. “You couldn't have helped him even if you had been there when they attacked. You weren't then the soldier you are now and raw talent is no substitute for experience and desperation. This wasn't your fault Swordsman. The blame, if there must be blame, rests with them.”

“And with her,” he said flatly. “You asked if she were a pawn to her family’s ambitions. I know she was not. She told me herself as they dragged me away from my father's broken body. She boasted the plan was of her own devising, that the jinn had promised her eternal youth and beauty for her services. It seems that for once the beast actually paid his debt.”

Marianne smiled coldly. “So, that was the coin her betrayal was paid in, with something as tawdry as eternal beauty? I'll have to remember that.” She examined the girl from a distance carefully, memorizing the proud, haughty features that betrayed the woman's cold soul. Then Marianne smiled and looked up at the bright blue sky.

Something screamed in the distance, a sound that echoed off the stones walls of the shops that circled the market. The villagers looked around nervously, glancing uneasily back castle before going about their errands. None looked up until it was too late.

No villager later could say what direction the fiery streak came from or what shape the attacker. All any would remember was the sound of beating wings and the screams of the girl Isabel which mixed with the cries of the bird which raked its claw over her beautiful face then disappeared over the roof tops. The girl fell to the ground, wailing, as the blood gushed from the jagged scratches that ran from above her eye across to her chin. Her maidservant stood dumbfounded, frozen in place by her mistress's distress.

Marianne raised one eyebrow at the screaming figure then shrugged. “Oh, too bad. Somebody's bargain just went down the drain.”

“She will heal,” The Swordsman replied tonelessly.

“Not this time she won't,” Marianne said sweetly, moving away from the rapidly growing crowd of people. 

The Swordsman hesitated for a moment, a frown on his normally impassive face. He waited for the Jinn's magic to assert itself, for the betrayer to be made whole again. But the blood still ran and the scratches on her face did not fade. If anything they seemed to grow redder, as though infection was already setting in. A small, cruel smile lit his face and then he turned quickly and followed Marianne from the square.

\--

Gideon strode swiftly into Max's quarters, not waiting for the xenoarcheologist to invite him in. “Well, have you found out anything about Interplanetary Explorations and the Draco family?”

“Not much.” Max admitted. “The big boys back home were none to pleased about my poking around that piece of our companies history.”

“But you did find something?” Gideon pressed, standing with his arms folded in front of the man.

“Officially, I haven't found out much more than we already know. Unofficially, I was able to find out a very interesting piece of information. Seems Mr. Draco was something of an amateur astronomer. He kept some detailed star maps that had been put together using both ground based and space based telescopes. One of those maps never made much sense to anyone.” Max pulled up a file on his screen and displayed the image.

It looked more like abstract art than a star chart. The image was of a long tunnel, surrounded by stars. The center of the tunnel seemed to radiate with waves of power, blotting out any light around it. Gideon stared at it with a frown, unnerved by the feeling of familiarity that surrounded it.

“Recognize it, Captain?” Max asked, a note of suppressed excitement in his voice. “You should. It's something we've seen many, many times.”

“I'm not in the mood for games, Max. If you know what it is, just tell me.”

“According to my research, Damien Draco entitled this piece of art “Hyperspace”. It's a representation of what hyperspace looks like, drawn long before we met the Centauri and acquired jump gate technology.” Max stared at the screen in fascination. “Not only is it hyperspace, but it's a particular point in hyperspace, just off the beacon we're traveling on now. I have a feeling, Captain, that our friend Galen's troubles started because of our proximity to whatever Draco was plotting a course for in this part of hyperspace.”

Gideon took over the keyboard, punching in commands for an analysis and flight plan to match the drawing. “Well then, let's take a look at what it was that Mr. Draco was so interested in finding.” He tapped his COM link quickly. “Mr. Matheson, I'm inputting new coordinates. We're changing course.”

“Where to, Captain?” Matheson's voice floated calmly from the link.

“I wish I knew.” Gideon muttered, staring down at the drawing. “I wish I knew.”


	14. Chapter 14

Marianne strolled through the village, casually examining shops and garden plots with the same nonchalant air she had cloaked herself in since she first arrived in Ainsley. The villagers, for the most part, ignored the stranger in their midst, their terror of the jinn's assassin more powerful than their curiosity. She noticed that there was no sense of moderation in the way things were presented in this cursed village. Heaps of food items were piled on carts by the side of the road, more food than this small village could every need. Shop fronts were elaborately decorated, with colors that were so vivid they strained the eyes. All the sounds, all the smells, everything seemed to be exaggerated, almost a parody of what would normally be found in a country village. “I can keep this up all day,” she called back to her shadow calmly, plucking a rose from a small garden then tossing it away in disgust. Its sickly sweet smell floated after her as she continued down the path. “Make it easy on both of us. Just take me to your home and then I'll be ready to speak with your master.”

“Come then,” he said, gesturing to a worn footpath beside the woman. “If you must disturb the past, then here is the road you must take.”

She stared down the road somberly. “Wait here for me,” she commanded, carefully starting down the track.

“As you wish,” he replied, turning his back on the road which led to his past.

Marianne walked a ways down the overgrown road, glancing back occasionally to see if her escort was still in sight. The path took a slight turn to the right, past a huge mound of wildly flowering Oleander bushes. She stepped behind the bushes, hiding herself from the sight of anyone on the main road, and looked again into the air. The sound of fluttering wings announced his arrival, as it always did before. “Hello Twin,” she sighed, reaching out to embrace the figure that had gone from hawk to man in the blink of an eye.

“Hello Twin,” he replied, sweeping her slender figure into a bear hug. The man before her was of slender build, neither tall nor short, with the long-legged graceful posture of a dancer. His scruffy beard and long dark hair gave him the air of a gypsy, as did the gold stud in his ear lobe. His eyes were the same dark pools as his sisters, the mirrors of his soul. It was her brother Andre; the one she had always claimed held the other half of her soul. “How goes the search?”

“Remind me to have a serious talk with our elder brother about the things he should tell people before he sends them off to fight demons,” she said, unwilling to release her brother from her embrace. “There are things here I was not expecting.”

“Such as?” he asked, leaning slightly to pluck a flower from the bushes.

She stopped him quickly. “Such as don't pick the flowers. Their scent is so strong it's overpowering. There is no subtleness here. Our intelligence about this particular jinn was right on the money. He’s probably a minor practitioner. The demon was probably unable to cast his spell with any degree of finesse. Everything is either too much or not enough. Too much food, too much scent to the flowers, too much beauty …”

“Too much beauty? That wouldn't have anything to do with a certain blond who's face will never be the same again, would it?”

“Perhaps it does, though I have no regrets on that score. If anyone deserved their fate, it was that witch.”

“I know there is a story behind this and you'll explain it to me eventually but I haven't time now. I must fly if I am to make it to the monastery by nightfall.” He gently set her aside and stepped back.

“Yes, I know. Duty calls. And I am grateful for your assistance with that little matter. Trust me when I say it was a job well done.” Marianne sighed and backed away, giving her brother room for his transformation. “Tell the Phoenix I'll have what he requires by noon on the appointed day. This I promise.”

“Then we meet again on that day, sweet sister,” he cried, leaping up into the sky and returning to his hawk shape. She watched him fly off, straining to see until his figure was a distant speck. Then she stepped back on to the path and continued down the road.

As she disappeared around yet another overgrown turn, the Swordsman appeared on the path behind her, his eyes cold as he looked up to watch the hawk disappear over the horizon. Then he continued after her, walking softly in her footsteps, careful to not give himself away.

\--

Gideon returned to the conference room to find Alwyn and Dr. Chambers engrossed in a document on the screen before them. “What's that?”

“There was a hidden file, something Mr. Eilerson probably didn't know about. The crystal was encrypted to hide this document.” Alwyn stared intently at the text, engrossed in the story it told.

“So how did you find it?” Gideon asked, curious in spite of himself.

“We didn't, Captain,” Sarah replied, looking briefly across the table at the Technomage. “We were still going through the photos when all of a sudden there it was.”

“It is a story, told to the artist, by Damien Draco. An explanation of sorts as to why there is no love lost between himself and his sister's guard.” Alwyn shook his head, amazed. “This man was arrogant enough to have been a member of my order Captain Gideon. He tells of sending his young sister into a trap to retrieve an item he did not need, against an opponent he knew she could not defeat. He knowingly sacrificed her to draw his enemy's attention away from the prize he was truly searching for. And he has the unmitigated gall to be annoyed at the Swordsman's condemnation of his actions.”

“Well, whoever she went up against, he must not have been as tough as her brother thought for her to still be alive when he told this story.” Gideon pulled up a chair and began to read the text quickly. His eyes scanned down to the final lines then he sat back, amazed. “Whoa, am I reading this right? Her opponent was…”

“The Swordsman,” Alwyn replied quietly.


	15. Chapter 15

Marianne examined the ruins of the small cottage before her with care, searching for something she couldn't quite put into words. Perhaps it was a sense of the man who had pointed out this path to her, a guide to the soul she knew he still carried hidden under all his scars. But all she saw was ruin, desolation, and the memory of terror. “What a lonely, cold place,” she murmured, turning over a piece of stone with the toe of her boot.

“What did you expect to find after all this time?” a voice replied from behind her. The Swordsman stepped off the path and came to stand at her side. He too examined the site with care, his eyes flicking over the piles of burnt beams and fallen stones with disinterest. “It was a long time ago.”

“Was it?” she asked, moving carefully through the rubble. “It feels like it happened just yesterday.” She stopped in a clear spot, and stared suddenly across the field. “Here. This is where she stood.”

“Where who stood?” he asked, a frown forming on his normally impassive face.

“The woman whose screams I can still hear.” Marianne held her hands to her ears, trying for a moment to block out the psychic memory that flowed from the spot. “She saw what was happening but couldn't scream until it did. Then she couldn't stop screaming.”

The Swordsman stared at the woman in front of him, a tightness forming in his chest. “My mother. They say she would not quiet until the Healers forced poppy juice down her throat.”

“She made a choice, didn't she? They came to her after they had bound you.” Marianne moved swiftly to towards the center of the ruin, pushing aside loose stones as she walked. “They stood here, those brave men, quaking in their boots for fear of what they thought she might be able to do.” Marianne looked up at the Swordsman suddenly, recognition in her eyes. “She was a child of the old magic wasn't she? Those brave men who killed your father believed she might not have lost her talents when the Darkness came. That's why they were afraid. They didn't know what she could do if she lashed out at them. That's why they came to her to make the pact.”

“She agreed to it,” he growled, backing away from the memories as though they were poisonous snakes. “She surrendered her child to that monster for the sake of the old magic.”

“No, for the sake of her child. She had lost her husband and stood to lose her only child. Had she ever used her gifts, Swordsman, or were they a simply an echo left in her blood from olden times - an echo that she couldn't place, couldn't use and couldn't ignore? They had nothing to fear from her but cowards that they were they chose to act against her anyway. They closed in on her, preyed on her terror of her own powers, on her fears of losing everything she had left. They made her ashamed of the blood that ran in her veins, the talents handed down through her family through the generations, talents most of them had long since forgotten. She had no choice but to agree. It was the only way she could find to save your life.”

“My life!” he spat out, turning to her in a rage. “How can you call this nightmare I exist in a life? It would have been kinder to have killed me there beside my father.”

“Kinder to you,” Marianne agreed, stepping over the stones toward him with exaggerated care, the waves of past emotions buffeting her mind from all sides. “But not kinder to her. She would have been alone, a fate she feared more than all others. So she rationalized her decision, telling herself that as long as you had life you had hope. In the end, it wasn’t enough.” She stopped at the edge of the clearing and closed her eyes in pain. “She didn’t survive her nightmare. She took her own life here, dying with the remnants of her hope.”

“Hope! Hope is the first thing I lost when they bound me to that monster – hope and innocence.” He kicked a small stone out of his way, his expression grim. “Enough of this, woman. Will you come to my master or must I drag you to his feet?”

“So, you've decided against the soft approach have you?” she asked sadly. “Ah well, I suppose I should have seen that coming. Very well, Swordsman, no more trips down memory lane. Let us see what the demon has in store for me today.” Marianne walked calmly around the tense figure beside her, careful not to brush against him, and headed down the path towards the black towers of the castle. The Swordsman stood for a moment staring at the ruins of another life then turned on his heel and followed her towards the road.

-

Gideon stared down at the story, aghast by what he had read. “He set her up against this guy, Galen's doppelganger, knowing she couldn't win?”

“So it would seem,” Alwyn replied thoughtfully. “He says that the Swordsman was renowned throughout their land for his talent with blades of all kind, ruthless in battle and pitiless in peace. Yet somehow this girl managed to defeat him. I wonder just how she managed that little feat.”

“Doesn't the story say?” Gideon asked, quickly scanning down the lines of text.

“No,” Sarah replied thoughtfully. “It seems Draco never told her that part of the story. All he said was that he was amazed she had won and more amazed that she kept the Swordsman as her guard considering what he had almost done to her.”

“I can't imagine why he was so surprised,” Alwyn, commented. “It makes perfect sense to me.”

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer,” Gideon said thoughtfully.

“I don't get the feeling that he was her enemy,” Sarah protested. “If he hated her for wining then why take such an active dislike to her brother who probably put her in other dangerous situations.”

“No, he didn't hate her,” Alwyn agreed. “That much you can see, even in these old photos. Look how he never seems to let her out of his sight.” The older technomage adjusted the screen to show the multiple photos side by side. “You see, in every photo where the girl appears, the Swordsman appears right at her back or at her side. He guards her almost religiously from everyone, even her brother.”

“Not from all her brothers,” Gideon commented, leaning forward to tap one image. The photo showed Marianne Draco and Andre McMasterson playing chess, huddled over what appeared to be an oversized ivory chessboard. The Swordsman was seated between the two, resting his head on his clasped hands as he stared down at the board in amusement. “Looks like he didn't have a problem with this guy – McMasterson is it? Funny, why the different name?”

“Near as I can tell from Mr. Eilerson's records, none of these people were actually blood-related,” Sarah replied thoughtfully. “Marianne and Andre might have been – there are places here where the artist refers to them as twins – but I think they were fostered to the Draco family when they were young. Funny thing is, according to the artist’s notes, Damien Draco was almost fanatically devoted to his sister yet he appears to have had no problem using her for whatever plots he came up with.”

“A touch of jealousy behind those eyes,” Alwyn murmured.

“Whose – the Swordsman's or Draco's?” Gideon asked.

“Yes,” Alwyn replied cryptically.

Matheson's voice suddenly interrupted the conversation. “Captain? We're at the coordinates you gave me. I think you'd better come up here. There's something you might want to see.”

“On my way,” Gideon replied briskly. “You two want to join me on the bridge?”

“Where are we?” Alwyn asked, a feeling of dread coming over him.

“Eilerson found a record of a map Draco had before he disappeared. I had Mr. Matheson plot a course to take us to the place that map showed, a set of coordinates in space which, as it turned out, weren't too far from where we started. Draco's map showed something else, something that looked suspiciously like a jumpgate at those coordinates, technology he couldn't have known about. I'm curious to see what we find out there.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, Captain Gideon, and I fear yours might just finish us.” Alwyn rose stiffly, leaning heavily on his staff. “But since we are here, let us by all means see what there is to see.” He motioned for Sarah to precede him then followed her with Gideon at his back. The trio moved swiftly to the bridge to find crewmembers staring in awe at the viewing screen.

“Well, anyone want to tell me what's so…” Gideon's voice trailed off as he saw what hovered in front of them in space.

Alwyn smiled grimly. “It seems there's a guardian for this jump point, Captain.” He moved forward and examined the image closely. “And it doesn't appear any too eager to let us pass.”

“What is that?” Sarah asked, breathlessly.

Alwyn shook his head in mock dismay. “You scientists, so neglectful of the things that make the world a magic place. That, my dear, is what legends called a Phoenix, the legendary bird that was reborn on its funeral pyre. And it appears to be waiting for something or someone.”

“Galen.” Gideon replied grimly.


	16. Chapter 16

Marianne looked around the dank throne room, wrinkling her nose at the smell. “I'm assuming this place hasn't been aired in a while?” she asked facetiously.

“My master will be with us shortly,” the Swordsman replied brusquely, brushing past her to light a torch.

“Take your time,” she replied, wandering around the room aimlessly, ending up in front of a large, stone chair. “I'm in no hurry.” There was dried blood on the steps leading up to the seat along with an assortment of well-gnawed bones. She eyed the chair with interest, making mental notes of the runes etched on its sides. A battered old sword was leaned against the chair, its tattered sheath thrown carelessly beside it.

The Swordsman stepped behind her and followed her gaze up to the chair. “Others have stood before this throne,” he whispered coldly in her ear. “Most of them started out as confident as you. There was little left of their souls when he was finished with them. It will be the same with you.”

“You have such confidence in me,” she replied dryly. “Maybe I'll surprise you.”

“Little would surprise me,” a voice hissed from the shadows. The Jinn shuffled out of a doorway and past the duo to his chair, leaving a trail of slime in his wake. “But you have succeeded in interesting me, woman. You have a gift I have not seen in this forsaken little pesthole in a while. Such a gift could be useful indeed. Imagine the havoc that could be achieved if an assassin could be sent against my “brethren”, an assassin who could not be stopped by magic. The others have grown complacent in their age, dependent on their magic to do even the simplest tasks for them. They would be easy prey for such a unique hunter. Yes, this gift would be valuable indeed if it were mated with the right combination of strength and cunning.”

“Is that an offer, old beast?” she asked with a laugh. “Or are we just beginning the negotiations?”

“Would you be willing to barter your talent to me, witch? Name your price!”

Marianne arched one eyebrow at the Jinn then smiled coldly. “You're too eager old beast. What would you be willing to offer me for this “gift” and all that comes with it?”

The Jinn settled back into his throne, an evil smile on its ugly face. “I offer you gold, jewels, and wealth beyond your imagination.”

She shrugged, turning her back on the demon. “Now you're boring me. If I wanted wealth all I'd have to do is take it from the first Avarice Demon I ran across. What else do you offer?”

“Land and slaves to work this property. This too I offer for your services.”

She shrugged, unconcerned. “I'm a wanderer by nature. Land is useless to me and slaves are only a hindrance.” She stood in front of the tall, silent figure of the Swordsman, staring pensively up at his impassive face. “Try again, demon. Surely you have something of more interest to offer me.”

The Jinn chuckled cruelly, pulling the shadows closer around his seated form. “Would you have a pet, witch? A toy to amuse you? Something to serve your every desire at any time, day or night?”

“Have someone in mind?” she asked.

“Me.” The Swordsman breathed the word, his voice tight with anger. “The Jinn offers me.”

She shrugged again, unconcerned. “He's already tried that tact when he sent you to seduce me at the Inn. An interesting tactic though a tad predictable.” She reached out one gloved hand and gently ran her fingers over his cheek. “Under other circumstances, I might have been interested,” she mused. “You're a pretty thing and I have a weakness for blue eyes. But I'm selective these days as to who shares my bed.”

“Why should I negotiate at all with you wench?” The Jinn's voice was hard with anger. “I could have you chained like him and broken to my will.”

“You're not paying attention,” she sighed. “The collar is magic. I am not affected by magic. Therefore, any spell of binding you tried to perform on me would be ineffective.” She took one step closer to the still figure before her, clasping her hands in front of her. She held the Swordsman's glance with her own, keeping his eyes on her while she slowly slid her glove off her right hand. “Besides, I didn't come to sell my services to you. I came to return an object and be amused for a while. So far I've not been amused. So unless you have something of interest for me…”

“I could have you chained in the dungeon till you starve” the Jinn snarled, infuriated by her lack of interest.

“You could certainly try,” she agreed with a smile, walking around the Swordsman with careful steps. “But I've yet to find a dungeon in this land I couldn't break out of – especially if it's guarded by magic.” She walked slowly to the end of the hall and stood by the doorway, her fingers tapping an impatient rhythm on her crossed arms. “You were doing so much better when you were negotiating. Now you've bored me and I hate to be bored.”

“Name your price!” the demon spat the words out, its red eyes blazing. “But beware harridan that you do not try my patience too far.”

Marianne smiled to herself then turned back to her companions, her face impassive. “Well, you can start by inviting me to dinner.” She gestured absently towards the Swordsman with her ungloved hand. “And you can lend him to me after dinner. I have a feeling it's going to be colder tonight than it was last night and I could use a good bed-warmer.”

The Swordsman's face revealed none of the emotions that had been resurrected during the conversation. “As my Master commands,” he said coldly, nodding to the Jinn.

“Yes, by all means – let us dine together tonight” the Jinn agreed, his demeanor suddenly cheerful. “I'm sure we can find all manner of amusements to occupy us after we feast.”

Marianne smiled coldly, though she shuddered inwardly at the thought of what would amuse a Jinn. “I'm sure it will be an entertaining night for us all.”

\--

Gideon stared in astonishment at the fiery bird that seemed to hover between his ship and the jump gate. “A Phoenix? Give me a break. There is no such thing as a Phoenix. Mr. Matheson, what do the ships sensors tell us about that thing out there.”

“Sensors are reading nothing Captain.” Matheson replied, making a few adjustments on the panel in front of him. “We're not ever reading a jumpgate.”

“Then where is this image coming from?” Gideon asked, not really expecting an answer.

“My brother just wanted to make sure you found your way to the proper spot” an amused voice replied from the door. All on the bridge turned to see a figure in a dark cloak walk from the adjoining conference room, followed closely by two other figures. The first form pushed back the cloak's hood to reveal the woman in the portrait – Marianne, the Dark Lady. “Hello Captain Gideon. Welcome to the entrance to my world.”


	17. Chapter 17

Gideon stared in surprise at the woman in front of him. She appeared no different, standing on the deck of his ship, than she did in the many photos they had reviewed. He could almost swear she hadn't aged a day since her portrait had been painted. She was even dressed as she had been in the painting – a long dark gown with an ebony cloak shrouding her tall form. A simple golden band around her forehead held her waist-length hair back and she held a sheathed sword by its belt in her left hand. Even the thin scar that ran from her cheek to her jaw, an imperfection so slight it might have been mistaken for a stray hair if he hadn't been so sure no lock of her hair would dare be out of place, was still there. Her two companions moved silently in her wake, shadows of her vibrant image. They did not push back their hoods, making it impossible to tell if they were male or female or even human.

“See anything you like?” Marianne asked, mischievously.

Gideon blinked, startled, then smiled in spite of himself. “Sorry. It's not everyday I see a painting come to life.”

“It's not every day I talk to an Earth Force Captain aboard a hybrid ship,” she agreed with a laugh. “So I'd say that makes us even.” She glanced around at the people on the bridge with interest. “What, no armed security?”

“Do I need security?” Gideon asked, quickly.

“Not really.” She shrugged again and smiled. “If I wanted you dead you would never have made it here from Maxius IV.” Marianne glanced back as Dureena and Max hurried from the lift to join Sarah on the bridge. “Ah, Mr. Eilerson, how nice to see a representative of Interplanetary Expeditions! I've been meaning to ask someone there what they thought they were doing with the nice company we left them. But I suppose it's much too late to expect a full accounting for what we left behind. Especially after the Shadows and the Vorlons made such a mess of things.”

“You appear to know a great deal about us” Alwyn remarked quietly, moving to stand beside the Captain. “Especially since you've not been seen on Earth since long before man began a serious exploration of the stars. Yet you know of Vorlons and Shadows and even of Earth Force. How, pray tell, do you manage to be so knowledgeable?”

“There is little that goes on in the Universe that I don't know about” Marianne replied, turning away to watch the image of the Phoenix glowing on the screen. “You'd be surprised the depth of my knowledge of current affairs, Alwyn. Then again, perhaps you wouldn't be. After all, Technomages are supposed to know all that there is to know, aren't they?”

“There are things about you we don't know” Alwyn admitted grimly. “Such as how you know my name or how you've managed to trap my young friend in his ship.”

“I keep track of things and people that interest me. Technomages interested me once, you especially. The others were so deadly serious about their craft. As for your friend, that's not my doing. I don't do Magic anymore, at least not that kind of Magic. That's why I travel with these two.” She waved her free hand behind her at the two still hooded figures that had followed her onto the bridge. “They are here to make sure I get back to where I belong in a timely fashion. Or perhaps they are here to make sure I don't run away from home.” She shrugged her cloak off her shoulders, leaving it in a heap at her feet. “I've never been quite sure which one it was. At any rate, Captain Gideon, I've seen White Stars before but this ship is quite different, isn't it? May I?” She moved gracefully towards the controls, slinging her sword sheath over her shoulder by its belt.

Gideon eyed her with some skepticism. “You've seen a White Star? When was that?”

“During your most recent conflicts,” Marianne replied, moving gracefully from station to station. “It's something of a long story. Remind me to tell you about it one day if we have the time.” She stopped and frowned, looking down at the panel in front of her. “Are your main guns controlled from here?”

“I'd be glad to give you a tour,” Gideon began, reaching out to stop her.

Alwyn reacted swiftly, catching the younger man's hand before he touched the woman. “That might not be a wise move, Captain Gideon. Remember the photos? Some in her family might not take it well.”

Marianne raised one finely arched eyebrow at the two men, holding out her hand to stop her cloaked companions before they could move forward. “He's right, you know. It's not polite to touch without being asked.”

“I take it your brothers might object? Or is it your Swordsman I should be concerned with?” Gideon asked, impatiently pulling loose from the older Technomage.

“My brother Andre would probably find it all in good fun. Damien would smile that cat's smile of his then burn you to cinders where you stand and make some feeble excuse why it was necessary. As for the Swordsman, you'll get a chance to ask him yourself before this adventure is done.”

“Because he's never far from your side is he?” Sarah asked, finally finding her voice.

“So they say,” Marianne agreed absently. “The truth is a little more complicated than the fairy tale we told that young artist.” She frowned at her traveling companions. “Be off harpies! If I have need of thee I will summon thee.”

“Mistress, the King has said…” one figure whispered, aghast.

“I'll deal with the King,” she replied. “Now be gone!” The two figures bowed and backed away, disappearing suddenly from the bridge as though they had never existed. “There!” Marianne sighed. “That's so much better. Now we can talk.”

“Dare I ask what we're going to talk about?” Gideon asked, suspiciously.

“How about we discuss how we're going to get your friend out of his ship without depriving him of his sanity?” she replied sweetly, moving towards the elevators. “Coming?”  
\--


	18. Chapter 18

Marianne frowned as she paced the bedchamber one of the Jinn's trembling servants opened for her. “You have got to be kidding,” she said, poking at a pile of wet, moldy bedclothes with her toe. “You don't actually expect me to stay in here, do you?” She looked around in disgust at the spider webs in the corners of the room, one of which held the skeletal remains of a small bird. Dust lay almost an inch thick on every piece of rotting furniture, most of which wasn't fit even for the fireplace. The curtains barely covered the open space where a door to the balcony must have once hung. Glass fragments from the room's one window dully reflected the sick light from the misshapen candles that filled the room. The stench was abhorrent, a mixture of mold and something she dare not examine too closely.

“Is there something wrong with the room?” the servant asked tremulously, glancing around in a panic. “It is the Master's finest room, given only to his most special guests.”

“Oh, my mistake. And here I thought he was just trying to be insulting.” Marianne peered into the dull surface of a mirror that hung beside the bed. She glanced around again, noticing how careful the servant was to lay her saddlebags – which she had sent for from the Inn – on the tattered quilt covering the rickety bed. “Tell me what you see when you are in this room,” she commanded, leaning carefully against the dusty wall.

“What do I see, Mistress? My eyes see the comforts and riches of my Master's house. I see finely polished wooden furniture covered in richly embroidered cloths. The crystal mirrors reflected the gleam of a hundred candles, all set in finely wrought silver holders. Colorful flowers were strewn from one end of the room to the other, their scent heavenly to breathe.” The slave clutched at her painfully thin arms, her haunted eyes reflecting a hunger she dare not openly express, especially not to her Master's guest.

“I see.” Marianne replied, apologetically. “It should have occurred to me, especially after walking through the village, what I was likely to find here.” Her eyes swept over the cowed form before her. The serving girl the Jinn had commanded to attend her was as slight as a child, though her eyes were older than a crone's. Her paper-thin skin still bore the marks of her Master's whips. Not even the layers of rags the girl wore could hide her painfully thin form. Marianne wondered, briefly, what the girl saw when she caught sight of herself in a mirror – if the Jinn's magic of illusion extended to his servants self-image as it did to the rooms in his castle.

“Is there a problem with your accommodations?” The Swordsman entered the room quietly, gliding in on cat feet to stand behind the serving wench. The girl ducked her head instinctively, a reaction born of experience and fear. The Swordsman ignored her reaction, also from long experience.

“That will be all,” Marianne ordered, waving the cowering girl away. She waited until she could no longer hear the servant's nervous shuffle moving down the corridor before she spoke again. “What do you see in this room, Swordsman?”

“The same as the girl,” he replied, standing stiffly before her. He did not bother to glance around him, having seen this room many times before when his Master had “invited” local gentry to discuss the continuing terms of their arrangement with him.

“Liar” Marianne glared at him in exasperation, then moved swiftly towards the bed. “The room the girl described is all a glamour, a spell of concealment meant to impress and divert. But divert from what? What does the old beast not want me to look too closely at?” She poked at the cobwebs and cracked pottery on the bedside table, wrinkling her nose at the cloud of dust that rose from everything she touched. Then, with a sly grin, she bent and reached behind an empty chamber pot. “Well, what have we here?” She lifted an awkward object – a distorted sculpture of a satyr playing his pipes beside a stunted tree – and set it on the table. The statute was crudely done, with no fine detail to either the body or face. Only the satyr's eyes were painted, appearing to gleam with a lecherous glee. Marianne smiled cruelly then reached for her saddlebags. She fished out a small dagger and began to play with it, tossing it lightly from hand to hand then twirling it in intricate circles as she studied the statue.

“What are you doing?” the Swordsman asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer. “You should be preparing for dinner.”

“I'm not finished yet,” Marianne replied, tapping the tip of the blade on her teeth. “Someone, it seems, started a little art project. Seems such a shame to leave it unfinished, don't you agree? Maybe I'll just make a few alterations – starting with the eyes…” Suddenly, she leaned forward and poked the statue in one of its finely painted eyes, viciously digging the tip of the dagger deep into the clay.

A shrill screeching filled the air and suddenly the inanimate statue became very animate, grappling with the sharp object that was blinding it in a futile attempt to save itself. Blood flood down its half-formed face as Marianne completed her task, running the blade's edge across both sockets. Its little wooden flute dropped with a slight thud as the beast fell back in agony. Marianne watched it writhe on the table for a moment then plunged her dagger straight through its chest, pinning it to the table. It screamed once more then was still, turning from living statue to lifeless clay in a matter of moments. She pulled the blade from the mass of clay and calmly wiped it on the rags that covered the bed. “Looks like your Master has lost himself a pet – or was it a spy?”

The Swordsman shrugged, unconcerned. “He has others.”

Marianne tucked her blade back into her bag, then tossed it all towards the silent figure at the door. “I'm afraid I must insist that if I'm to be spied on that it at least be in a room where the dust bunnies aren't larger than live rabbits and there is something resembling clean linen on the bed. Let's find other accommodations for me, shall we?”

“Where did you have in mind?”

“Your room.”

\--

Gideon trailed after the woman as she confidently entered his conference room and took her place at the head of his table. “So, you were saying..."Gideon began, pulling out a chair for himself.

Alwyn glanced around the conference room, noticing a slight glow from behind the woman's head. "We were discussing your visit to this ship," he said, placing himself in a corner of the room with his back to the wall. He watched as the glow coalesced behind her head, noticing with interest that no one beside himself could see it. 

"I thought we were going to talk about getting your friend out of his ship," she replied with a smile. She could feel the older mage's eyes, watching her like a hawk watches its prey. 

"Okay, let's talk about that," Gideon tossed a quick look at the elderly mage.

"Yes, let's talk about Galen's situation," Sarah spoke up impatiently. "Do you know what's happening to him?"

"He's in the midst of a Dreaming - a coma like state where his subconscious mind is disconnected from reality. He is experiencing the events of a past time as an observer, much as you would watch a data crystal. But the longer he continues in this state, the more the dream becomes his reality. Soon, he won't just be watching events unfold, he'll be participating in them."

"Is that possible?" Sarah asked skeptically. "After all, these are not events from his past."

"What was the last thing he spoke to you about before he locked himself in his ship?" Marianne asked, leaning her sword carefully against the table.

"He was having dreams about your Swordsman meeting you probably for the first time," Sarah replied.

"Not a good event to be trapped in,” Marianne mused, tapping her fingers on the tabletop. “What's your opinion on this brother?”

The glow Alwyn had been watching suddenly flared, now visible to all in the room. When it subsided a man stood behind the visitor's chair, looking at the crews stunned faces with amusement. “I think I really love to make an entrance,” he said, making a short bow in the direction of the Excaliber's crews. “Let me introduce myself. I'm Andre, once know as Professor McMasterson and now only known as Dragon. And to answer my sister's question, I've got a pretty good idea what started your friend on this Dreaming. Someone wants something you have, Captain Gideon. And he's used your friend Galen as a lure to bring you right to our door.”

“Oh blast it all!” Marianne looked up at her brother in annoyance. “He didn't!”

“Oh yes he did,” Andre responded happily. “Our big brother went looking for a certain pretty box and it looks like he's found it.”


	19. Chapter 19

Gideon contemplated the couple in front of him, a sinking feeling developing in the pit of his stomach. “A pretty box?” he asked, trying to sound unconcerned.

“Yes, that box-thing you’re hiding in your quarters,” Andre replied, a wicked grin on his face. “The one that’s screaming its head off right now because it can feel our presence. Can’t you hear it?” he asked, peering past the group on to the bridge. “I’m surprised your crew isn’t sounding red alert with all the noise it’s making.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gideon replied, a note of annoyance creeping into his voice. He glanced across at the older technomage and flinched as the man’s icy stare lanced through him. 

‘Now that’s a very unconvincing lie.” Marianne glanced back at her brother and raised one eyebrow quizzically. “I think you’re going to have to retrieve the silly thing, brother, before someone goes in to find out what the noise is all about. They do have at least one telepath on the crew and who knows who many more might have enough of the gift to be susceptible to the creature’s persuasions. Best to have it here where we can deal with it, don’t you think?”

Andre shrugged, unconcerned. “Doesn’t matter to me, sis. I kind of enjoy listening to it scream.”

“You’re a sadistic thing, aren’t you,” Marianne replied fondly, then turned away from her brother and leaned back in the chair with a sigh. “Oh do get on with it Andre. After all, we’ve got bigger problems than one silly box.”

Andre bowed mockingly in the direction of his sister’s back. “As you command, Lady, so shall it be done.” He waved his hand over the conference table, carefully inscribing into the air a set of mystical symbols as he quietly sang in an unfamiliar language. A slight glow began to form in the center of table, increasing in intensity and heat as he wove his spell. Suddenly, he slapped the top of the table hard, causing it to shiver with the force of his blow. The light disappeared instantly, replaced by the ornate figure Gideon recognized as the Apocalypse Box. The Box fell with a thud on to the center of the table, rocking slightly from the force of its fall. Andre again sang softly in its direction and the Box slid to table’s edge, stopping in front of Marianne. 

“Recognize it now, Captain?” Marianne asked sarcastically, reaching out to tap the top of the box with her hand. To the astonishment of the group, the Box appeared to shiver at her touch, reacting as though it were afraid.

“Do you have something you’d like to share with us about this, Captain Gideon?” Alwyn drawled, pulling up a chair and seating himself opposite the two strangers. He barely glanced at the box on the table, relying on his sensors to take readings for him to review later.

“What exactly are we talking about here?” Max asked, finally finding his voice. “Some form of ancient alien technology?”

“Greedy little bugger, isn’t he?” Andre responded, leaning on the table with his back to the box.

Dureena grimly watched the scene unfold from the door of the conference room, her eyes hard and cold. “Will someone please tell me what this has to do with Galen’s problem?” she asked, her voice tight with suppressed emotion.

“Captain Gideon here has been using this little beast to help locate alien worlds for you to explore, in hopes that one of those worlds would lead to a cure for the Drakh plague. Problem is, it’s not in this beast’s best interest for you to find a cure.” Marianne leaned forward and leaned her chin on her folded hands as she examined the box closely. “So brother, what exactly are we suppose to do with this thing now that we’ve found it?”

“I wasn’t aware we were even looking for it,” Andre drawled. He shifted again to lean against the wall, arranging himself so that he could see the whole room at once.

“We aren’t, obviously, but our brother is.” Marianne replied, as she reached out to thump the box with one finger. The Box responded as it had before, shivering almost imperceptibly. 

“If your brother wanted this “thing”, then why didn’t he just reach out and take it?” Alwyn leaned back in his own chair, pulling himself out of the light and into what little shadow the room provided. His voice was restrained, as though he were keeping his not inconsiderable temper tightly leashed.

“I suspect he’s bored.” Marianne shrugged and thumped the Box again, smiling thinly at its fearful reactions. “You’re quite right – he could have just plucked it out of the Captain’s cabin anytime he wanted to. But I’m sure making your friend walk through a Dreaming is much more interesting to him.”

“Are you sure it isn’t your friend the Swordsman who’s behind Galen’s Dreaming?” Sarah asked, pensively. “After all, it’s his story Galen’s seeing.”

“It’s not his style,” Andre replied with a laugh.

“But it is his story,” Marianne agreed thoughtfully. “And it only gets more interesting as the Dreaming continues. I wonder what part of the story he’s reliving now?”

\--

Marianne walked around the Swordsman’s Spartan bedroom, noting that the Jinn seemed to feel no need to cast glamour over his slave’s quarters as he had over her own. The room was sparse, containing only a simple bed covered in rough linen. At the end of the bed was an equally plain clothes press for the man’s clothes. A bare table and chair at the other end of the room completed the furnishings. A simple wooden door led out to a balcony that overlooked the town. A sword hung in its sheath from the back of the chair and various knives and throwing stars littered the floor or were stuck in the walls. “Nice. A little bare, but nice.”

The Swordsman shrugged, unconcerned. “It is adequate for my needs.”

“Then you must not need much,” she replied, sitting on the edge of the simple bed. 

“He will expect you at his table for dinner within the hour.” The Swordsman looked pointedly at her saddlebags, which she had insisted on carrying herself. “I will give you some privacy to ready yourself.”

“Don’t bother.” Marianne reached over and pulled the bags onto the bed. “I’m not terribly shy. You can stay and get ready yourself if you want. I won’t look.” She smiled wickedly as she looked back up at the still figure in front of her. “Then again, maybe I will.”

The Swordsman sighed in frustration. “This is not a game, woman! You do not know what he is capable of, what horrors he will visit on you once he has you in his thrall.”

“You’d be amazed at the horrors I’ve already seen, soldier. There is little that minor demon can show me I haven’t already experienced.” She pulled out another dark shirt and pants from her bags and shook them lightly, frowning at the wrinkles. 

“You are a fool.” He growled, moving around her to pull open the chest and search for a clean set of clothes. 

”And you’re no fun,” she responded, pulling her shirt over her head and tossing it in his direction. “Any chance of a bath before dinner?”

“Not likely,” he fumed tossing her discarded clothing in the corner angrily. 

She pulled the clean shirt on and slid out of the dusty boots and pants she was wearing. “Never know till you ask.” Marianne padded barefoot out the door and onto the balcony, breathing in the over-perfumed air, mentally preparing herself for the battle of wits to come.

Inside, the Swordsman sat on his bed and pulled off his own boots, trying to understand why he was so angry. It seemed to be a constant occurrence when this woman was around him. She pushed all the buttons he thought had been long disabled, found sore spots on his heart he thought had scabbed over and died when the Jinn had first taken control of his life. He had worked hard to numb himself to his life, had strangled any feelings he might have had long before they could blossom in his soul. Yet somehow she managed to make him feel something even if it was only anger. He stared down at his clenched hands resting in his lap with a frown. “What spell is this?” he asked himself, forcing his hands to open and lay relaxed in front of him. 

“I don’t do spells,” Marianne’s voice floated out of the doorway, as she re-entered the room. “I thought I told you that.”

“You said Magic didn’t affect you,” he replied, pulling his other boot on. He kept his eyes lowered, forcing himself not to look up at the slender figure in the doorway.

“Same difference,” she said, climbing onto the bed to kneel behind him. She saw him stiffen, uncomfortable with her presence and his vulnerable position in relation to hers. “Relax. I don’t bite. Well, not often.” She laughed softly, and then gently lifted his shirt to expose his back. She caught her breath at the sight of the fine, white scars that criss-crossed his back. “The bastard really enjoys his whip, doesn’t he?”

“I am his slave. He may do with me what he wishes.” The Swordsman’s voice was hollow, devoid of expression. He shrugged her hands away then turned on the bed to face her, his eyes lifeless. “Avoid my fate, woman. Leave now, while you still can.”

“I can’t.” she sighed. “None of us can avoid our fate. If it is mine to fall in this castle, then so be it. But I must at least try to make right what those that came before me have made so wrong. It is what I was born to do.”

“Were you born to be the plaything of a demon? Or were you born to find death at the point of my blade? These are the things you will find here. I know not what goal you seek, what thing your brother has sent you here to find. All I know is how this will end.”

“And how will it end?” she murmured, reaching out to take his hand in hers.

“With your death – and my damnation,” he replied, pulling free of her touch. “Get dressed. The Beast awaits us.”


	20. Chapter 20

“What does your brother want with this Box?” Alwyn asked, his eyes on Gideon’s face.

Marianne shrugged, unconcerned. “Probably wants something new to torment. Those Anubis dogs that raid the outlying borders of our world get boring after you’ve killed them a few dozen times.”

“Anubis dogs?” Sarah asked, skeptically.

“Don’t ask,” Andre responded with a smile. “You really just don’t want to know.”

“Is anyone else in the least bit interested in knowing more about our guests?” Max asked, exasperated. “I mean they appear out of no where - seemingly unchanged after over two hundred years – and no one wants to know how they did it?”

“No Max, no one is the least interested in hearing their story,” Gideon snarled, glaring at the archeologist. 

“I admit to a certain curiosity,” Alwyn replied coldly. “But my first concern is Galen.”

“Not much we can do there,” Andre admitted, ruefully. “If Damien sent him into the Dreaming then Damien has to get him out of it.” He glanced down at his sister who was leaning back comfortably in her chair and staring at the Box with an air of speculation. “Want me to tell them a story sis or will you?”

“Go ahead,” she replied dismissively. “You’re a better storyteller than I am and it looks like we’ve got time to kill.”

Andre smiled then waved his hand again in the air beside him. A glow appeared in front of the bulkhead then coalesced into a tall bar stool. He hopped up on the stool, bracing one foot on the floor. “Okay – Draco family history 1.0 goes like this. Once upon a time…”

“You’re going to tell us a fairy tale?” Sarah asked, wryly. 

“Something like that,” Andre admitted with a smile. “Only like most good stories this one has some truth to it. Once upon a time there was a land where magic was the norm, not technology. All types of magic, including the Dark Arts, existed there. It was a happy enough place – at least until they realized that there were other worlds beyond there own.”

‘Other worlds or other dimensions?” Alwyn asked, interested despite his concerns.

“Other…places,” Andre replied, shifting in his seat. “Let’s just leave it at that. The people discovered that other people lived who didn’t do magic and some of those magic-users thought it would be a good thing if they went to these places and set themselves up as rulers – or Gods. Mostly this was the opinion of those who didn’t do great magic but thought that they did. This didn’t go over well with everyone on his or her world. Many mages believed that the fate of other beings wasn’t any of their business. Others thought that allowing their fellow mages to become “Gods” to primitive people only fed a dark desire for power in their people, a desire that might be turned against the world of magic. Kind of like your Shadows and Vorlon – only with even more attitude. Still others feared that leaving their world would allow holes in their defenses by which creatures of Dark Magic – which had been kept at bay for millenniums – to return to the world and destroy it. Sadly, this argument was the least heeded and the one that ultimately came true. A Civil War of sorts broke out with different factions maneuvering for positions of power. Some left the world and traveled to other, more primitive places as they had threatened only to discover that their powers were not as strong there as they had been at home. Instead of being gods they were perceived as monsters and were hunted down by the primitives they tried to rule. Those that stayed behind in the world of magic found that they were diminished by their comrade’s defections, and soon the Dark Lords were able to rob what little magic was left from the people and set themselves up as Masters of the world.”

“An old story,” Alwyn looked from Gideon to Marianne, who was dancing her fingers along the table top in front of the box, teasing it they way he had seen children tease a caged bear. He frowned at the girl, who looked up at him and grinned unrepentantly. 

“Most stories these days are old ones,” Andre admitted. “But this one is a little more personal to my sister and I then most. Both of us are descended from the same pair of mages who came to a little known world that the natives called Earth. Generations of mating with mortal men and women had – till our births – pretty much buried any of the gifts of magic this couple might have started out with. We, Marianne and I, were just a pair of guns for hire when Damien found us.”

“Guns for hire?” Gideon replied, finally tearing his eyes away from the Box. “You were mercenaries?” 

“Not exactly,” Marianne stopped teasing the creature in the Box for a moment and glanced at the Excaliber’s captain with a frown. “We weren’t in business for ourselves – our services belong to one of the major national powers of the time. The Agency had raised us from childhood to be the perfect weapons. We each brought a specific talent to the table – martial arts in Andre’s case and a mastery of firearms in mine – which the government used to deal with issues of security. As teenagers we were quite effective – no one ever suspected what we were capable of until it was too late. Then, one day, we ran into a wealthy young man by the name of Damien Draco.” She stood up and moved to her brother’s side, leaning on his shoulder. “It was a strange meeting. We had never met the man yet we all seemed to know each other’s thoughts as though there were our own. It was like the first time I met Andre only Damien was a little spookier than my foster brother and a lot more arrogant. We saved him from a rather sticky situation and in return he had us released from our organization’s control and took us into his house. That’s when we learned what was in our blood, the gifts we both carried in our DNA.” 

“I thought you had been raised by the Draco family” Max commented, glancing briefly at Gideon.

“Sort of yes, sort of no. We were teens when we were adopted into the family, but it just felt like we had always been there.”

“I thought you said those gifts had been pretty much diluted,” Sarah commented thoughtfully. “How could Draco know about them?”

“Damien was a throw-back, a genetic anomaly,” Marianne replied. “He was born with the full force of his gifts flowing through his veins. His father, who also had some of the old magic in his system, realized his son was born with his gifts “turned on” as it were and had him taught from day one to use them and to recognize the signs of the gifts in others. Later, as Damien got older, he taught himself to enhance the gifts of others, to essentially change their DNA to more closely match that of their ancestors. That’s what happened with Andre and myself. He switched on Andre’s power first. Not a big issue since Andre’s gifts were mostly on anyway. Then he tried to do the same with me. Problem with me is my gifts are gifts of limitations.”

“Limitations?” Alwyn’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the strange pair. “What type of limitations?”

“I’m something of a null field for magic. If I touch a thing influenced by the Power, or speak to a person who tries to wield the power against me, their gift fails, at least for a while. I also have the gift of being able to hear the truth in all its forms and recognize a lie whenever it’s told to me. Neither was a very active gift but one that served my brother well when we finally went to the home world to face down the Dark Lords.”

“These are very pretty stories but how does this help Galen?” Dureena asked, impatiently.

“It doesn’t,” Marianne admitted ruefully. “But it did kill some time. And besides, your friend did ask.”

“Your man will come out of the Dreaming when he has seen what he needs to see,” Andre slid off the chair and gestured towards it causing it to disappear in a puff of smoke. 

“Will it tell him why your brother and your guardsman hated one another so much,” Alwyn asked pensively. 

“It’s that obvious, is it?” Marianne glanced at her brother with an unreadable expression on her face.

“The expression in the Swordsman’s eyes leaves little to the imagination,” Alwyn responded. 

“Probably,” Marianne replied with a sigh. “It’s the one thing you can read in his eyes. Mostly he’s pretty walled off. If your friend is seeing the battle we waged in the village of Ainsbury, then he is seeing the beginning of a long, cold hatred that exists even today. Which makes me wonder even more what that bird-brained brother of ours is up to.”  
\-- 

Marianne steeled herself not to flinch as the demon hobbled past her, coming much to close for comfort. The Swordsman stood at her back, a dark and silent figure in the midst of the mad activity in the dinning hall. “Don’t have many visitors do you?” she asked, glancing down the plain table settings being put out by the slaves.

“None so interesting as you,” the demon replied with what he must have thought was a charming smile. To Marianne it looked as though he was suffering indigestion. 

She glanced back at her shadow for a second then marched to her place at the table and sat down. “You flatter me, old devil. But I’ve been flattered before. Let’s see what else you’ve got to offer.”

The demon seated himself awkwardly on his throne at the head of his table and motioned impatiently for the Swordsman to take his position behind the chair. “Did you like your accommodations?” he hissed, snatching a turkey leg from a tray as the slaves began to set the food on the table.

“One room looks pretty much like any other,” she replied vaguely, poking at the half-done fowl on her plate. She reached for her goblet and looked at its contents doubtfully then glanced up at her host. “Red wine with turkey? You really don’t do much entertaining, do you?” She raised the glass to her lips, her eyes on the Swordsman’s face. His expression remained unchanged yet there was something in his eyes that warned her not to actually drink the liquid in the cup. She laid the goblet back on the table with a sigh. “I never did care for red wine.”

“Perhaps you will find our entertainment more to you liking.” The Jinn chuckled cruelly as he reached for his whips. Suddenly the sound of loud voices filled the chamber, with a woman’s angry voice rising above the rest. 

“I must speak to the Jinn!” A man and woman, clad in rich furs and hoods, strode forward into the Jinn’s hall, thrusting aside any slave foolish enough to try to bar their way. Marianne smiled coldly as she recognized the voice of the girl from the marketplace, the one responsible for the Swordsman’s fate. “Jinn, I demand your help. See what has happened to me!” She pulled her hood back to reveal her scarred face. The scratches had deepened and festered even more with the skin torn away in places to reveal the bone. One eye was filmed over from the infection and the other was bloodshot from tears of rage and pain. 

“How dare you demand anything of me, mortal!” the Jin roared angrily. He glared at his guest for a moment then motioned his guard forward. “Remove this whore from my presence.”

“You made a deal with me!” the girl screeched, enraged. “I and my father would destroy the Sheriff and bind his son to your service in return for eternal wealth and power for my family and youth and beauty for me. I lived up to my part of the bargain.”

“Sounds like she’s accusing you of going back on a bargain, old beast. Should I be worried you’ll do the same to me if we reach an agreement?” Marianne reached across and lifted her goblet from the table, swirling its sickly sweet contents around and around the interior of the glass while she watched the encounter unfold in front of her. 

“You!” the girl screamed, maddened by pain and rage. “You were there when this happened. You were looking right at me. You must have done this – no one else in town would have dared!” She lunged forward towards Marianne’s still form.


	21. Chapter 21

“If the Box was your brother’s target – why involve Galen at all?” Sarah asked, concern in her voice.

“Probably because he can.” Marianne replied, glancing at her brother. “He’s meddlesom.”

Andre shrugged nonchalantly. “Who the hell knows what goes on in that fluffy blond head of his?”

“You’re brother sent you into a battle you couldn’t win.” Alwyn watched the pair carefully, his sensors collecting and processing information on them as quickly as they could. “Why?”

“Because he could.” Marianne replied again, a slight smile on her face. “It didn’t quite work out the way he expected.”

“It didn’t?” Max asked, curious.

Marianne smiled mischievously. “Not even close.”

===

Marianne moved with the grace of a cat, almost flowing out of her chair as she evaded the woman’s mad attack. She quickly maneuvered so that she could grab the woman’s long, blond hair and proceeded to bash her ruined face into the nearby wall until the creature ceased to make a sound. “Really darling, “ Marianne drawled as the other woman slid limply to the ground, “if this is the way you entertain your guests it’s no wonder you’re all alone up here. This is about as entertaining as watching moss grow.” She wiped her hands on her pants and strolled back to the table, giving the prone figure a quick kick as she did.

Galen kept his face impassive as he watched the girl’s companion carry his betrayer from the hall. “Is there anything you require of me?” he asked the demon, keeping his eyes on the girl.

“I require your presence and your silence” the demon snarled, waving his whips menacingly in the Swordsman’s direction. He peered at the girl malevently. “I require entertainment of you girl.”

“Oh well if that’s all you require…” she sighed. 

“You should mind your tongue” the demon retorted. “You may find my patience is rapidly dwindling”

“You mean you actually had any?” she smiled, her voice sarcastic. “Wow, you hide it really, really well. Here all this time I just thought you were a snarly, smelly, ignorant….”

“ENOUGH!” the demon howled. “You will pay for your insolence!”

“If I had a drachma for every time some slimy toad expected me to pay for my insolence I’d probably be the wealthiest women in the Universe.” She grinned, the humor not reaching her eyes.

“I’ll have you drawn and quartered!”

“Whatever.” Marianne drawled, sitting back and propping her feet on the table. “So are we having dinner or not?”

The Jinn stared at her open-mouthed then glared back at his guard. The Swordsman kept his eyes on the floor and his face blank, though his mind was spinning. “She will force this. She leaves him no choice.” 

“Perhaps facing death will teach you manners!” the Jinn screamed. “I will have you face my Swordsman’s blades.” The Jinn swept his goblet from the table, rising to his feet in a rage. He glared at the Swordsman’s blank expression. 

Marianne tried to keep the smile from her face. Things were coming to a head right on schedule. Damen had said the Jinn wasn’t as bright as his brethren and would be easily distracted. “Fine by me. You were boring anyway. Pity your guest wasn’t more of a fighter. It might have been very entertaining to beat her into a bloody pulp.” She glanced up at the impassive man in front of her. “When do we start?”

The Jinn cackled, shifting in his seat. “I would be entertained tonight wench. And your death will be that entertainment.” 

The Swordsman pivoted on his heel with his sword suddenly in his hand. His eyes were no longer vivid blue but deep pools of blackness. The collar glowed faintly under his shirt. “Let us finish this now.”

\--

“So what happened?” Dureena asked, curious despite herself.

“You should ask our brother Damien” Andre asked, looking towards the conference room door,

Gideon turned quickly and found himself looking into a pair of vivid blue eyes. Damien Draco looked no older than he had in the portrait, with that same arrogant air clinging to his handsome frame. His dark blond hair was longer and wilder than it had been in the family photos and held back by an intricately carved silver crown. He had a sword strapped to his back and the hilt of a dagger poking out of his boot. Draco looked unsmilingly back at the Excalibur’s officers and the older technomage. “You have a question for me Captain?” he asked Gideon coolly. He eyed the Apocalypse box with interest. “I see you’ve found my box for me, little sister.”

“We didn’t find it exactly, more like it found us. And I think that Capt. Gideon is looking for the end of a certain story” Andre replied, hopping up on the table to sit cross-legged beside his sister’s chair. “So are we. Let their friend go and finish the tale before our sister scalps one of us – specifically you. You have some explaining to do.”

“Tell me, big brother,” Marianne began, tapping her nails on the table in front of her, “when exactly were you planning on telling us about your little game? Am I or am I not your general and head of your security detail? And why exactly did you drag the Technomage into a Dreaming that has nothing to do with him?”

Draco shrugged, ignoring the Earth Force officers. “I wasn’t aware I was required to tell you about every hunt I go on. I am King, after all. I may do as I please. Nothing can hurt me anymore. As for the other – I thought it would interest a faux mage to see the actions of a real one. It amused me.“

“You are,” Marianne snapped, frowning “possibly the biggest spoiled brat I’ve ever met. I’ve no one to blame for you but me since I’ve let you get away with murder – sometimes literally – for years. And now I’m getting very tired of it. ”

“Can you tell us anything about our friend?” Sarah interjected, looking cautiously at Marianne.

“Tell us how your first meeting with the Swordsman ended.” Alywn moved out of the shadows with a frown. 

“How did she beat him?” Max asked gracelessly. Alwyn rolled his eyes while Sarah and Dureena both glared.

“Oh by all means,” Andre laughed. “Tell them how she won the fight.”

“The way she wins all her fights” Draco said impassively, a small, proud smile lighting his face. “She cheated.”

 

Marianne pulled her dagger from her boot and looked at it quizzically. “I appear to be unprepared” she commented circling the dark figure before her. 

Her opponent’s eyes coldly watched her every move. He motioned with his left hand and a shorter sword appeared in his hand. He tossed it at her without a word. 

Marianne caught it easily, twirling it experimentally to test its heft and balance. “Nice” she said in appreciation. “Looks like it could do some damage.”

The Jinn leaned limped to his throne and with a wave cleared the room of all other furniture. “The only damage done here will be to you, wench. You should have bargained while you could.”

“I don’t bargain with slime” she purred, feinting to the left as she twirled in and out of the Swordsman’s range of attack. He batted her away easily, slashing at her arm. She slashed at his upper torso, managing to tear open his shirt yet missing the skin. They danced around each other for a few moments getting a feel for the other’s ability. Feint and jab, slash and stab, the battle resembled a ballet more than a life or death experience. 

The Swordsman coolly evaluated his opponent. She was good, quick and deft even with a strange blade in her hand. The girl was better than most who had come against him. She stayed just out of his range, preferring to cut him down in inches rather than using brute force. But she couldn’t stay out of range forever. Eventually she would grow tired and then his strength and experience would come into play. He continued to back her across the room, slowly taking control of the dance.

Marianne suddenly threw her self across the floor, rolling under his guard to slash at his legs. He lashed out, kicking her as she slid by. She came to a stop beside the dais where the Jinn’s throne was located. She snatched up the old sword leaning on the throne and danced out of the Jinn’s reach, dropping her borrowed sword as she went. In an instant, the Swordsman closed the gap, pushing down the old sword with one arm as he pinned her to column with his free hand. 

“You should have left while you could” he snarled. A silver dagger appeared magically in his empty hand, its tip pointed at her face.

“Maybe” she agreed softly. “But then again…” she laid her palm against his bare chest. 

He caught his breath as the white hot heat of power flowed through him, cutting the connection to the Jinn. The darkness left his eyes and for a moment he was free again. His opponent smiled then shoved the dazed man aside hard and hurled her old sword end over end to impale the Jinn to his chair. 

“What have you done?” the Swordsman gasped, clutching the collar as pain lanced through his head. The Jinn’s pain and terror kept him from reestablishing his control over his fighter but it didn’t keep him from trying, with waves of pain flooding over the prone fighter.

“No clue” Marianne replied, running back to the throne. She snatched up a rusty axe she had seen beside the throne and swung it two-handed at the screaming Jinn. The demon’s head separated from his slimy body with a sickening thump, dropping at her feet. “I’m making this up as I go.” She pulled the old sword out of the disgusting lump on the throne and stared up at the ceiling with a frown. “Why is the ceiling crumbling?”

The Swordsman looked around the throne room in dismay, the pain ending as suddenly as it had begun. “The Jinn’s veil of concealment! It’s dissolving. The castle is becoming what it was!”

“What exactly was it?” Marianne asked in concern, backing up towards her former opponent.

“A ruin” he snarled, grabbing her by the arm. “If we don’t get out it will fall to pieces around our heads.” 

“So you see,” Marianne said with a grin, “I did win – I just had to cheat to do it.”

“Indeed.” Draco agreed, moving to stand behind her chair. The tall blond laid his hands on his sister’s shoulders, twirling a lock of her dark hair between his fingers affectionately. “You did not defeat the demon’s servant. But that wasn’t the point of the exercise, was it?”

“No” Marianne agreed with a smile. “I was actually there to distract the Jinn, to keep him from seeing you moving your troops onto his territory. And finding that Elvin sword was a plus. And besides all’s fair in love and war.”

“Which begs the question” Andre commented, looking down at the box he was seated beside. “Which are you playing at big brother – love or war?”


	22. Chapter 22

Galen awoke with a start, the smell of decay and dust still heavy in his lungs. He looked up at the ceiling of his ship in confusion. “What happened?” he murmured, trying to sit up. 

A gloved hand gently pushed him back. “Lay still for a moment,” a familiar voice rumbled. “The Dreaming is often hard to recover from.”

Galen lay back for a moment then blinked at the figure across from him. It was as though he was seeing himself in a darkened mirror. The Swordsman sat in a chair with his long legs propped up on Galen’s bed. He was dressed in the same costume he had worn in the dreams with a dagger poking out of his high leather boot. He watched the young Technomage struggle upright with a smile. “I see you’re no less stubborn than I am,” he commented, reaching into the shadows beside his chair. A small crystal flask appeared out of the darkness, resting in his palm. He tossed it lightly towards Galen. “Here, drink this. It will ease the headache.”

The Technomage caught the flask, wincing at the sudden pain between his eyes. “What is this?”

“Just drink it, little brother. The Master Healer swears by its efficacy.”

Galen eyed it dubiously but did as he was told, trying not to gag at the over sweet taste. The pain began to recede almost immediately. “From where I’m sitting,” Galen began conversationally, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, “we’re about the same age. How did I become your little brother?”

“I’m older than I look,” his double commented wryly. “So, what did you think of the Dreaming?”

“Is that what this was called?” Galen stretched his tired muscles then looked back at the other man. “I’m not sure how you downloaded those images to my mind…”

“Technomages!” the Swordsman snorted, a slight smile lighting his face. “You wouldn’t believe in magic if it turned you into a toad.”

“Magic? I think that’s probably something we’ll have to agree to disagree about.” He started to rise, then thought better of it and sank back with a sigh. “You picked an interesting event to show me.”

“I didn’t pick it,” the Swordsman replied somberly, the smile vanishing. “The King used you to bring your ship to this point in space so that he could entertain himself at another’s expense. Your captain has something in his possession that the King wishes. I suspect by now he’s got what he wanted.”

“I’m so pleased I was so entertaining,” Galen snarled, leaning back against the wall. “Why are you here?”

The Swordsman shrugged. “When you opened the doorway between our worlds I saw his interest in you. My Lady said you reminded her of myself when first she brought me into the fold. The King was not pleased to see her interest. I thought it best to make sure you weren’t hurt by his boredom.”

“I should thank you for that. The dream was not a pleasant one.”

“Nor was the event,” The Swordsman agreed grimly. He rose and held out a hand to the other man. “Are you ready to be with your friends? They are concerned for you. My Lord and Lady are with them but I suspect they would rather see you are well with their own eyes.”

Galen sighed, the reached across and clasped the other man’s arm and pulled himself back to his feet. “Sounds like quite the crowd. We’d best not keep them waiting. By the way, what do I call you? Swordsman seems more a title than a name.”

His double smiled mirthlessly. “My name? My name is Galen.”


	23. Chapter 23

Draco glanced at his brother, one brow lifted quizzically. “What ever do you mean, little brother?” he asked innocently.

Marianne rolled her eyes. “Please! Innocence doesn’t become you. You lured these poor people here by putting their friend into a Dreaming just so you could snatch that silly box from them. And you didn’t do it for any altruistic motive – you did it because you were bored.”

Gideon looked at the box still on the table with a frown. “You have heard there’s a disaster about to explode on Earth, right? That box may hold the key to finding the cure to the plague that is about to kill the planet’s inhabitants.”

Andre sighed. “Not likely. The best lies are those that have a kernel of truth to them, and this box lies quite well. But, that being said, the box only knows what its creators allowed it to know. And the plague was a creation of its creator’s children so …”

“So it doesn’t know anything more than you were a convenient pair of legs to take it to where it wanted to go, which is back to its creator’s children.” Marianne thumped the now silent box vengefully. “You were played, Captain Gideon. You were used.”

“A fitting toy for the king” a voice remarked from the doorway. 

Gideon blinked in confusion at the sight before him. From the looks on his crew’s faces, they were also taken aback by the two men at the door. One was Galen, in his dark cloak and holding his staff. But the man beside him could also be the Technomage, wearing dark pants and shirt with a sword slung across his back. A second look changed his initial impression. There was a palatable air of menace about the other man, a coldness that hung in the air around him. Galen was dangerous, of that Gideon was certain, but this man was something more.

Marianne and Andre smiled at the sight of the two men. “About time you joined us” Andre said, sliding off the table to stand beside his sister.

“My apologies for being late” the Swordsman said, standing beside the door. “Little brother had a hard time awakening from the Dreaming.”

Galen sighed in annoyance. “I’m not your little brother” he began.

Marianne held up a hand with a smile. “Peace, ” she laughed. “The Swordsman’s words were kindly meant.” She glared at the blond man behind her. “I must apologize for my elder brother’s foolishness. Sometimes he needs a babysitter and I’ve not had the energy of late to keep watch over him.”

“Mind your tongue, girl. I’m your King” Draco replied mildly, frowning at his sister. “I do not need to be watched.”

“Careful, ” Andre snorted. “You really don’t want to hear what she really thinks about your little stunt. She’s likely to not be very polite.”

“Oh very well” Draco huffed, waving a hand in the direction of the Apocalypse box. It slid across the table into his arms. He stared at it intently for a moment, muttering words similar to those that Andre had used to summon the box from its concealment. A shimmering haze covered the box then flared. When the light died, the box was gone. “Say goodbye to our visitors, my siblings. It is time for us to return home.”

Marianne sighed. “As you wish brother.” She rose gracefully from her chair. Draco held out his hand to his sister, a cold smile on his face. In a blink of an eye the Swordsman moved across the room and inserted himself between the siblings, a blade in his hand. His cold eyes were locked on the other man in challenge.

“Stand back,” The Swordsman said coldly, “you will not touch her.”

Galen frowned, shifting his staff from one hand to another. “Is there a problem here?”

“No problem,” Draco replied coldly, a staff appearing in his hand. “Only a servant who does not know his place. I told you to chain your beast before you went visiting, sister.”

Marianne reached up and swatted both men on the back of the head. “Don’t make me send you to your rooms. You know I will. And you,” she pointed to her elder brother “being rude isn’t the way to my heart. We both remember what happened the last time you annoyed me.”

Draco rounded on his sister. “You will not…” he said angrily.

“Oh yes I will” she replied in annoyance, punching her brother hard in the chest with a finger. “You may be King of the world at home but you’re still that same, spoiled brat whose ass Andre and I have had to save over and over again since we were teens.” She continued to punch him angrily with two fingers for emphasis, backing the taller man into the wall. “The same entitled idiot who would have died a dozen times on that battlefield if I hadn’t been there to protect you. The same brainless twit I took a blade through the heart for and would do so again. Don’t start with me boy, or I’ll make your life a living hell for weeks.” She glared at the silent figure beside her, his hands clenched at his sides. “And that goes for you too. I’m in no mood for your attitude.”

Andre sighed, rolling his eyes. “My apologies, Captain. Siblings – can’t live with them, can’t live without them, can’t legally kill them. They’ve fought like this for years. Usually I’m the mediator but today…”

“Today you’ll stay out of it” Marianne replied, crossing her arms and glaring at her elder brother. “You’ve got your pretty box to torture – go home and play with it.” She sat back down and leaned back with a cold smile. “Go. I’ll come home when I’m good and ready.”

Draco sighed, his anger gone as suddenly as it came. “Women!” He tossed something at the floor and was covered by a burst of light and smoke. When the smoke cleared, the tall blond was gone.


	24. Chapter 24

“Take this one with you. I’ll be along momentarily.”  
The Swordsman knelt at the Lady’s side, his head bent. “Forgive me, Lady. The King is right – I forgot my place.”

Marianne sighed in exasperation. She tilted his head up to look in to his eyes. “There is nothing to forgive. He can be annoying, even for me. But he means me no harm, despite what he has done in the past. He loves me as best he can.”

Dureena touched Galen’s sleeve. “Are you all right?” she whispered.

He looked at her quizzically. “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’ve been locked up in your ship for over a day.” Alwyn responded, looking at his young friend with worried eyes.

“I have?” Galen looked at his doppelganger in surprise. “You forgot to mention that little detail.”

“Time is unimportant to us” Andre replied, laying a hand on the Swordsman’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, my friend?”

The Swordsman rose and gently brushed the man’s hand off his shoulder. “My apologies, little brother. I should have warned you that time had passed.” He stood at parade rest, his hands clasped behind his back.

Andre sighed. “He really wasn’t a threat to her, you know. He was just going to take her hand so he could play medieval King, like he always does.”

The Swordsman frowned at the dark man. “Perhaps.”

“Does this have anything to do with the end of the story?” Sarah asked, tentatively, eyeing their guests with concern.

Marianne sighed. “Andre, go home and keep an eye on our brother for me. He’s probably dissecting that poor creature in the box. And take  
“No.” the Swordsman replied, his back stiffening. “I will not leave without you.”

“You’ll do as I say,” Marianne lashed back. “or you and I will have problems.”

Andre sighed and waved a hand at the bulkhead. A glowing door appeared suddenly behind the silent figure beside him. “Come along brother. There’s no use in arguing with her when she’s in a bad mood. And from where I’m standing, she’s not fit company for either of us.”

The Swordsman shook his head stubbornly. “No. I will not.”

“Oh yes you will,” Andre replied calmly. “You’ll do as you’re told because if you don’t she’ll be angry, especially if you don’t leave her to talk to these people while she still can. And you hate it when she’s angry with you. Come on brother, she won’t be here long.” He laid a firm hand on the other man’s arm and gently nudged him towards the door. 

The Swordsman sighed and turned towards the door, allowing himself to be led away. He turned at the threshold and looked back at Marianne. “I will wait only so long, Lady. If you are not returned by the setting of the Moon I will return for you.” He stepped through the door, followed by the other Mage. The door disappeared as silently as it had appeared.


	25. Chapter 25

“Was that a threat?” Galen asked, quizzically. 

“Not really,” Marianne replied . “He’s just over protective of me. Andre will keep him calm. He’s probably the only friend my Swordsman has – besides me.” She looked at Gideon with a frown. “I wouldn’t worry about losing your box, Captain Gideon. It wouldn’t have helped you in your search. It would have led you a merry chase before it destroyed you and your hopes for Earth’s survival. Andre’s probably correct in assuming Damien is already taking it apart to get to the prize inside.”

“You were going to tell us the end of the story,” Sarah said quietly. “I, for one, would like to know why your brother and your guard hate one another so much.”

“As would I.” Alwyn replied. 

Marianne shrugged. “It’s rather a predictable end to a sad story and was the start of another, grander one.”

\--  
Marianne slid to a halt outside of the castle entrance, the Swordsman coming to a halt beside her. Behind them she could hear the remnants of the castle tumbling to the ground, dust rising in a choking cloud around them both.

“Next time,” she gasped, “warn me I’m about to literally about to bring down the house.”

“If I’d known what you were attempting I would have.” The Swordsman snarled, coughing from the dust. He reached up and felt the metal collar still around his throat. The subtle cold heat and smell of decay that he had long associated with his demon master was gone, replace with subtle warmth and a faint scent of roses. The Jinn’s oppressive hold over his will had disappeared yet he instinctively knew the spell was not gone.

She glanced back at him and caught the glint of the collar. “Are you still bound to the collar now that the Jinn is dead?”

“I do not know,” he replied quietly, mentally calling his sword back to his hand, then gestured towards the road back towards the village. “But I fear we have other problems to deal with.”

Marianne glanced down the road and sighed. The villagers were coming up the path, most dressed in rags and waving whatever crude weapons they could find. “Lovely. Just what I need right now. A bunch of raggedy peasants storming the castle.” 

“What have you done?” The elder of the village screamed, shaking an angry fist at the duo. “The Jinn will come and punish us for this. They will destroy us because of you!”

“I can only hope,” Marianne snapped. “From what I’ve seen you deserve far worse. You betrayed your friend, enslaved his son, and who knows what you’ve done with any traveler fool enough to come in this little slice of Hell. Good riddance if the Jinn come and wipe you out. It’ll save me the trouble of having to do it later.” She glanced back at the horizon and her eyes widened. “Crap! This is getting better and better.”

The Swordsman followed her gaze. Coming over the horizon were waves of horsemen and foot soldiers, many holding banners depicting a phoenix on a field of flame. A tall blond man wearing silvery body armor riding astride a dark horse surged forward, coming to a halt between the angry townspeople and the Jinn’s former assassin. He waved a lazy hand in the direction of the angry mob. A shimmery wave of fire and wind rose up and drove the terrified villagers back towards their homes, burning anything or anyone not quick enough to get out of its way. 

“Sister? Am I interrupting?” The man asked, gracefully dismounting to stand in front of her. He glanced back at the fleeing villagers then back at the girl with a wolfish grin. 

“I think they are annoyed with us,” she replied, nodding back at the retreating crowd. “Not, however, as annoyed as I am. They sold out to the Jinn for riches. Frankly they should be thrilled I don’t firebomb their sorry asses back to the Stone Age.” She glanced at the Swordsman briefly then waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the armored man. “By the way, this is my older brother Damien. This little escapade was his idea.”

The Swordsman looked up at the man coldly. “Did you know what she would face when you sent her?”

“Of course I knew,” Damien replied in amusement. “I told her she needed to find a sword for me and sent her on her merry way, knowing she’s do whatever it pleased her to do while looking for it. Not that the sword was all that important. Moving my soldiers from the borderland into the interior was the ultimate goal. I had complete faith she would find a way to keep her pretty head on her shoulders while I moved my troops into position. She’s quite clever that way.”

“Clever?” the Assassin stared at the man in disbelief. “I nearly took her life and for what? For the sake of a blade you didn’t really want or so that you could move chess pieces on a board? This Jinn was a minor demon at best – he had little magic of his own other than what he has stolen over the years. There was no need to distract him. There was little he could have done against so many soldiers. You could have taken this ground without risking you sister’s life.”

Damien shrugged. “I wasn’t willing to take that chance.” He looked closely at the collar around the other man’s neck. “So you wear the Malfious collar – which means if I am correct that you are bound to the master of the spell.”

“The Jinn is dead.” Marianne commented, searching the ranks for her twin. 

“Did you kill him?” a voice asked from behind them. Marianne whirled and happily hurled herself into her other brother’s arms. He twirled her around in a circle then set her on her feet and quickly kissed her cheek. “No seriously, did you? Because if you did then you are technically the Master of the collar now.”

The Swordsman felt his breath catch in his throat. The scent of roses made sense now. The collar was merely projecting the aura of its master. He stared up at the horseman whose blue eyes looked back at him in disdain. He went to his knees in front of his new master and held out his sword to the woman. “As my lady commands, so shall I do.”

Marianne frowned at her twin then up at Damien. “Surely not. You know how I feel about slavery. Can’t I just take the collar off him and be done with it?”

“No.” Damien replied shortly. “We have need of good soldiers. Just make sure to keep this dog on a short leash when he is not needed.”

“He’s not a dog,” Marianne shot back angrily. “He’s a man. No man deserves to be slave to anyone, not to a Jinn and certainly not to me.”

“You will do as I command!” Damien roared, rearing up in his saddle. 

“Since when?” she snarled. “I never have before. The only reason I agreed to this little farce was because I wanted to get a better feel for the world we were trying to free, not to get you some free help. And keep in mind, brother dear, that you may have all the power of magic at your disposal but your soldiers still look to me for their orders. If you want to win this war, you’ll stay out of my way and let me do my job.”

The horseman glared at his sister. “I will not be…” the words died in his throat as a blade appeared at his throat, summoned by the black-eyed Swordsman. 

“You will not speak to her in this manner.” The Swordsman growled. 

“Of course he will,” Marianne said in exasperation. “He’s my brother. He always yells at me. I yell back, it’s the way we communicate. ” She glanced up at her twin brother. “Tell our Captains that I’ll want to debrief them within the hour. Damien, I need you to give me an idea of the lay of the land you just rode over. Andre, did you find the maps we were told about?” She turned to walk away then suddenly stopped and wheeled around to face the Swordsman. She reached up quickly and yanked hard on the metal collar, almost pulling him off his feet. The collar snapped instantly, coming free in her hand. It gleamed for an instant in the sun before it turned dark and rusty and turned to dust. Marianne dropped the ruined metal on the ground at her older brother’s feet and then dusted her hands on her pants. “The choice is yours now, Swordsman. Stay with us and fight the Jinn and their allies or take to the rode and find another destiny. Let me know what you decide before we get back on the road.” She then turned silently and walked away, her two brothers following in her wake.  
\--  
“You freed him?” Dureena asked, her eyes still on Galen.

“Of course,” Marianne replied calmly. “What happened to him wasn’t his fault. He didn’t deserve to be punished for the greed of his neighbors. He didn’t deserve to suffer for my brother’s ambition. Andre and I volunteered to help Damien with his insane plans, Galen didn’t.”

“Who?” Sarah asked,confused.

“It seems my double not only shares my face but my name.” Galen replied dryly.

Marianne grinned. “You two probably share a lot of traits, though I suspect neither of you would admit to it.”

“Perhaps,” Galen said, glancing around at the Earth Force officers. “I’m assuming your brother’s desire to keep him enslaved is the reason for the animosity?”

“One reason,” Marianne reluctantly agreed. “It’s complicated.”

“Not that complicated,” Sarah said quietly. “You freed him from his slavery, saved him from more horror and degradation. He probably cares for you very deeply and hates your brother for endangering you.”

“And a touch of jealousy on both their parts,” Alwyn said, his eyes never leaving the girls.

Marianne shrugged, uncomfortable with the turn in the tale. “Perhaps. At least that’s what Andre thinks and I tend to put more emphasis on his opinions than I do most others. Andre has made an effort to befriend my Galen which is good as he needed a friend who wouldn’t judge, wouldn’t use him, and wouldn’t put much pressure on him. He’s usually able to distract him when I go walk-about – which I try to do on a regular basis. But that being said, I’ll need to return home soon or he’ll rip apart the fabric of space and time itself to find me.”

“Excuse me,” Max interjected, his tone annoyed. “But isn’t anyone going to ask how she can still look like she did well over two hundred years ago? Anyone?”

“I think you just did, Max.” Marianne laughed. “And the answer is complicated. If I tell you I’d have to kill you – and that wouldn’t be good would it?”

Sarah glanced at the girl. “Is there anything your people can do to help with the tragedy on Earth?”

“That would be complicated,” she said thoughtfully. “And the plague is the least of the problems President Sheriden will be facing over this. But maybe…” she stared intently at the table in front of her for a moment then smiles. “There maybe a way to move things along without actually interfering myself. My elder Brother did say I win all my battles by cheating but I prefer to think of it as being strategic.”

Alwyn frowned. “Why do I think your elder brother will not appreciate your assistance? It appears you are the power behind the throne. Can you not make your will law as you did in this war you speak of?”

“It’s not that simple.” Marianne let her fingers begin to trace swirls and patterns on the table-top, avoiding the older man’s eyes. “You’re correct in that I am the brains behind the brawn that won that little conflict but I have no interest in ruling. But for Damien it is almost a calling, the thing he has devoted his life to. Problem is he’s got zero people skills. That’s what Andre and I are here for, to make plans he wouldn’t think of and deal with people he doesn’t think he needs to deal with. He’ll never think about Earth’s problems now just as he never thought about the problems of the people we led into battle. He won’t be happy if I interfere either.” 

Galen glanced at his friend with a frown. “Why would he care? ”

“Damien is my King and my brother,” Marianne replied with a sigh. “and on a good day a royal pain in the ass. He’ll hate the idea of my helping Earth because it means I’m taking time away from him – but then I hate the idea of him torturing a defenseless being for his amusement so he’ll just have to suck it up.” She smiled mischievously. “And it would be highly entertaining for both Andre and myself.” She continued to lazily trace signs on the table-top, absently dancing her fingers across its surface like she was playing a piano. She glanced up at the older Technomage with a grin, then primly folder her hands in her lap.

Alwyn looked at the table for a moment then back at the girl with a grim smile. “Yes, I’m sure it will be quite amusing for you and your brother. Hopefully it will not be at the expense of the population of Earth.”

“You have more to fear from the powers that be in Earth Alliance then from me.” Marianne rose and stretched out her hand to retrieve her sword. She tapped it the hilt on the bulkhead twice then stepped back as the door of lights re-appeared. “Time for me to go.” 

“Will we see any of you again?” Galen asked in disappointment, surprised at his own reaction.

“You never know, little brother,” she replied with a grin. “Andre, Galen and I tend to run away from home on a right regular basis. We might just pop up sooner than you think.” She looked over the older Technomage and nodded to him primly. “Blessed be to you elder brother. May you add more knowledge to your store of information.” She stepped through the door with a wave. As soon as she did the door disappeared. 

Alwyn moved quickly, sweeping his staff over the top of the table. Fiery symbols and equations suddenly became visible on the bare surface. “Clever girl,” he said quietly. “She’s left us a clue, Captain. A clue to the end of Earth’s story. Now all you have to do is decipher it.”


	26. Chapter 26

It took the help of the Technomages and Max’s eclectic intellect to decipher the strange symbols left behind. “It appears to be a set of coordinates in hyperspace as well as some sort of chemical designator” Galen mused, squinting at the symbols on the screen in front of him. “But this symbol seems to represent the Drahk – which is strange.”

“Not so strange.” Alwyn looked up from the representation of hyperspace that had led them to the Draco family. “The Drahk re-created the plague from something they had seen or experienced as servants of the Shadows. It maybe that whatever is at this coordinates will reveal as much about their history as their present.”

Max looked up from his computer. “Maybe we’ll find more ancient technology.”

Galen sighed, then rose and stretched his tired muscles. “Really Max, does your mind ever not immediately go to ancient technology?”

Max shrugged and continued to review the data before him. “Probably not. It seems rather pointless not to consider all options.”

Galen shrugged and started for the door. “I need to check something on my ship.”

Alwyn rose as well. “I’ll walk with you. It’s time for me to be on my way.”

The two men walked in silence down the silent corridors, lost in their own thoughts. At Galen’s ship the older Technomage stopped and leaned on his staff. “Will you be alright?”

“Yes – why wouldn’t I be?” Galen asked, puzzled.

“You’ve had quite the adventure,” Alwyn said somberly. “You may find it’s not all as amusing as you are trying to pretend it was.”

“I’m fine,” he protested. “And the sooner I get back in my ship and start out on the trail of that point in hyperspace our guest has pointed out to us the better off I’ll be.” He waved his hand and the ship opened to receive him. 

Alwyn watched his young friend disappear into the depths of his ship. “Stubborn young pup,” he muttered, then turned to find his own ship.

Inside Galen settled himself at the help of his craft, going through the launch protocols in his head. He stopped for a moment, and then hesitantly re-ran the imaging program he had been using when the Dreaming had begun. The image of the Swordsman came alive on the screen. He examined it for a moment but closed the program in annoyance. “Magic! Absurd. There has to be another explanation.”

A low laugh filled his mind. “Until we meet again, little brother.” 

Galen glared at his controls as he set his ship to flight, hoping that his “little adventure” would prove to have been worth the pain and annoyance.

In the darkness of space, three ships leaped back into hyperspace, two headed for the same destination and one for distant space. Behind them a shining phoenix flared to life, watching them leave with fiery eyes. A man’s laugh filled the empty space around the bird, the sound following the ships till they disappeared.


End file.
